


Horseshoes and Flash Bangs

by Dracoduceus



Series: Cupid's Pony Express [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (hunting), Animal Death, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Centaur Hanzo, Consumption of raw or undercooked meat, M/M, Original Character(s), Retirement, Yeebork, background anahardt, can't talk only bork, werewolf mccree - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2020-05-19 20:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracoduceus/pseuds/Dracoduceus
Summary: A series of shorts surrounding the adventures of Centaur Hanzo and Werewolf McCree.More tags to be added





	1. Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To get a better idea of how their two new recruits fought and worked as a team, a series of tests were planned, including a live simulation. Perhaps it was a bit fair to put them on the same team and then pit them against two experienced agents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place before [Coat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363735/chapters/46070527).

“I—”

“No,” half a dozen voices said immediately. Genji stopped, surprised.

It was Angela that answered. “You cannot participate as it would not give us an accurate understanding of how he works,” she explained patiently and the horns on either side of Genji’s helm that sometimes emulated ears twitched downward.

McCree glanced at Hanzo whose own ears were twisted back, clearly uncomfortable. He pretended not to listen and to not notice McCree watching him in interest. Sneering, McCree fought the urge to spit.

Flicking his tail dismissively, Hanzo lifted a leg to the nearby bench. “Need some help?” Brigitte asked helpfully. “Or rather…would you  _ like _ some? I’m pretty good at armoring up.”

McCree watched Hanzo, honestly curious what gear that he would be putting on and hating himself for it. Much to his surprise Hanzo agreed to let Brigitte help him, explaining in a quiet voice—that McCree  _ could _ listen in on if he really wanted to but tried not to—each item in the gear bag he carried and how they were attached.

Under Hanzo’s careful instructions, Brigitte carefully wrapped Hanzo’s legs in a thin binding. Then she fastened what looked like another set of leg wraps, this one covered in thin metal plating like armor. She eased his hooves into a set of armored shoes that brought back unpleasant memories of fighting war centaurs with their barbed hooves.

“Those are new,” Genji commented, sounding petulant. McCree caught himself mentally chastising Genji— _ were you expecting Hanzo to have given you detailed specs of every piece of his gear? _ —and tried not to growl, not when Brigitte was so close to Hanzo’s hooves. She might get hurt if he startled Hanzo. 

Brigitte pulled the gear bag away from him when Genji reached for it. “Did you  _ ask _ ?”

Now that Brigitte had pointed it out, McCree noticed that Hanzo had tensed, his ears twisted backward in displeasure. Despite himself he could sympathize. It would feel just plain  _ wrong _ for anyone to handle his gear and the healthy sense of paranoia ground into him by Reyes in Blackwatch didn’t help.

Your gear was your own and what sets you apart. If someone tampered with it—or worse in some cases,  _ copied _ it—then you were dead or out of a job.

Sometimes both.

McCree ground the cigar in his teeth until it shredded. He didn’t like the reminder that they were so similar.

“I wasn’t aware that I needed to,” Genji replied.

Winston cleared his throat. “How much time do you need, Brigitte?” he asked, pointedly stopping the conversation before it could escalate.

“I’m nearly done with his hooves,” Brigitte pointed out. “I don’t know what else Hanzo would like help with. And I’m nearly done armoring up, myself.”

Her father huffed. “Ye’ll let me check the straps though.”

It wasn’t a question and Brigitte rolled her eyes. She looked up at Hanzo. “Do you mind being on a team with me,  _ morbror _ ?”

Hanzo’s ears twitched, one of them swiveling toward her. He looked in the direction of her gear: her shield, her mace-flail-thing, and the remaining pieces of her armor. “I’d be delighted,” he said dryly, sounding anything but. Then he added, “ _ systerdotter _ .”

“When did you get these?” Genji asked. It was strange to see him as impatient as he had been in Blackwatch; by the time of the Havana incident, he had mellowed down somewhat, enough that it almost felt like another person had been in that suit. Now he was just as prickly as before and McCree wondered if it had anything to do with Hanzo’s presence and the reminder of what he had lost.

McCree pulled his cigar out of his mouth and eyed the butt of it. It was thoroughly destroyed and grumbling he threw it away, spitting out chunks of wrapper and tobacco that had gotten caught in his teeth after grinding them for so long.

Angela and Lena made disgusted noises and he glared at them before checking his own gear.

“There,” Brigitte said, standing and stepping away from Hanzo. “How does that feel?”

McCree watched in interest as Hanzo shifted, stretching each leg with a level of flexibility that he had not expected to see in a centaur. “It feels  _ much _ better than when I have done it myself.”

Brigitte offered him a fist and Hanzo looked momentarily confused at the gesture before tapping it with his. “If you ever need help with your gear, just let me know,” she said. “Is that all? Or do you have something else?”

Glancing at Winston, McCree found him fiddling with the controls for the exercise chamber. A part of him wanted to be annoyed—didn’t the big guy know that gearing up for a real-world sim took  _ time? _ —but forced himself to hold his tongue. After all, Winston  _ had _ been more or less alone (occasional visits from Lena and the omnipresence of Athena aside). He knew that part of his irritation was that he now had to take into account the timing of others, not only himself.

McCree was the same way, still trying to get used to working with and around others.

Turning back, he found that Brigitte was helping Hanzo into a complicated-looking harness loaded with supply pouches around his upper hips and withers. The buckles all appeared to be within reach of Hanzo if he was to twist around but no doubt it was easier with assistance and would fit more comfortably.

Not for the first time, McCree was glad that he wasn’t a centaur. But that wasn’t fair—centaurs were herd animals and McCree had ever been raised as an independent soul. He hadn’t been raised to that lifestyle of needing assistance with hooves and hindquarters and climbing up and down stairs.

Perhaps to Hanzo, this was normal—albeit with new people around him.

He watched Hanzo carefully. Brigitte was a good girl—and in his mind would always be the little blond-haired girl running around with her big fluffy cat—and she didn’t deserve being taken advantage of by a kin-killer like Hanzo.

(That she could take care of herself didn’t even cross his mind.)

But Hanzo thanked her respectfully and prepared his weapon of choice—a mean-looking bow. McCree was about to mock him for it—maybe make a comment about anachronisms—but he caught Angela’s eye and swallowed his words.

By the time Torbjörn was satisfied with the way that Brigitte had armored up, everyone else appeared to be ready.

“Everyone settled?” Winston asked archly, frowning at them all. “We can begin the simulation. Teams, to your starting positions.”

Brigitte lifted her mace-thing like a student raising their hand to ask a question. When Winston scowled at her, she frowned. “How does this work? Hanzo and I have never been in a simulation like this before.” She glanced at Hanzo. “Or  _ I _ haven’t been in a simulation like this and Hanzo hasn’t been in this particular one.”

Before Winston could answer, Lena said, “It’s not that complicated…think laser tag, but bigger.”

Hanzo lifted his bow. “This is a live weapon,” he pointed out. “Which I was told to bring, with live ammunition. I assume that you want your operatives to remain alive for this exercise?”

McCree sneered and opened his mouth to respond to the challenge but Angela beat him to it. “Athena will be monitoring your progress,” she said and gestured to the exercise space. “This particular field is relatively new technology, something that Athena and Winston must have developed recently.” There was a hint of a rebuke and Winston looked away, fiddling with the controls. “If you look at the tiles, they are not sealed: this allows each of them to rise or fall independently to create all manner of obstacles.”

The tiles rose—slowly, much slower than McCree knew they were capable of, having tested the sim with Winston shortly after his arrival—to make a single wall in front of them. Brigitte and Hanzo took a few steps forward to look closer. At Angela’s nod, Hanzo put his hand on it and tested the wall.

“They’re strong,” Angela assured him. “Or they would be if they were maintained?”

Winston scowled. “They are well-maintained,” he said grumpily. “They can withstand a lot of force.”

“How much?” Hanzo wanted to know.

“ _ A lot of force _ ,” Winston told him, scowl deepening.

Lena snorted. “Hard enough to contain your temper?”

“Of course.”

Hanzo nodded. “And the live weaponry?”

Kneeling, Angela pointed to the seams of the tiles. “Each of these allows for a small forcefield. With Athena monitoring your progress, she will be able to stop projectiles from connecting while making an assessment of damage caused.”

“Let’s see,” Brigitte said excitedly, lifting her shield. It activated with a flick of her wrist and she moved on the tiles to stand in front of the wall. “Ready,  _ morbror _ ?”

Hanzo snorted and in a motion that was almost too fast to track—an impressive feat for a weapon like a bow—Hanzo nocked an arrow, drew it, and fired.

The arrow halted just in front of Brigitte’s shield and McCree noted that he had aimed for the space next to Brigitte’s ear—if nothing had stopped the arrow, it would have passed harmlessly by. Unless of course it ricocheted off the wall behind her. McCree tried not to think about that.

Above and around them, Athena said, “ _ Hit to Agent Brigitte’s shield with 10% damage. Shield integrity now at 90% _ .”

Winston made an annoyed sound. “There are comms that we will give you,” he said. “I’m not sure how well they will fit you though, Hanzo. We can monitor communication through the central hub here,” here he gestured to the console in front of him and continued, “but this allows for the teams not to cheat through announcements made over the overhead speakers.”

He handed out the comm units and Brigitte frowned at it before tucking it in her ear and around her throat. “These  _ definitely _ won’t fit Hanzo.”

“I have a headset in my bag that would fit me,” Hanzo said slowly as he looked at the earbud and throat microphone in his palm. “Is there a way to connect to that?”

Winston grunted. “Sure.” He accepted the comm back with ill grace and scowled at the comm set that Hanzo held out for inspection.

“Let me see that,” Torbjörn said gruffly and Hanzo bent his forelegs to give the piece of tech to Torbjörn. “Easy,” he said. “Athena, I’ll read off the specs to you. Can you connect?”

How the hell the engineer could know the specific model number of such an obscure piece of equipment, McCree would never know. Brigitte looked fascinated as well. “I’ve heard good things about those models,” she said excitedly. “For once a piece of shifter tech that actually works! Do you like it?”

“It’s one of the better models I’ve found,” Hanzo replied. “Expensive but worth it. Otherwise I would never be able to be connected to team discussions.”

McCree was about to ask a snide question when Torbjörn interrupted. “Here,” he said gruffly, standing on his toes to lift the comm over his head toward Hanzo. “That should work. Test with Athena, now.”

To McCree’s surprise, Hanzo allowed Brigitte to hold his bow for him while he fastened the comm system to his neck and head. Unlike comms for humans, it fastened around his brow—this allowed for the motion of his ears, which unlike humans, were able to move independently. McCree had always thought that those kinds of comms had the unfortunate appearance of a horse’s bridle.

Winston shifted impatiently while Hanzo tested communications with Athena.

Grinning, Brigitte gave him a thumbs-up. “Read you loud and clear,  _ morbror _ .”

“Are you ready?” Winston asked impatiently.

Brigitte hefted her shield and settled it in its straps on her arms. “Ready?” she asked Hanzo. “Let’s get to our starting position. I have a few questions for you best asked out of earshot. Do you by chance speak Swedish?”

As they began walking away, McCree could hear Hanzo say, “If you speak slowly, I can usually follow along.” Brigitte began excitedly chattering away while Athena guided them down the range toward their starting area. A set of walls appeared to hide them from view.  

Winston looked pointedly at McCree who laughed and nodded at Lena. “Let’s go.”

“Shouldn’t we tell them who the other team is?” Lena wondered as she followed.

“They wouldn’t know who their enemy is in real life,” McCree told her gruffly as he loaded Peacekeeper. “C’mon.”

The walls closed in around them as well, trapping them in their starting area. Beyond the walls, McCree could hear the tiles moving, creating a maze for the four of them to navigate.

Overhead Athena said, “ _ The rules of the match are as follows: Deathmatch Protocol _ .” McCree grinned to himself while Lena looked momentarily concerned. “ _ When it is announced that you are killed, you are to return to your starting area before being allowed out and the maze will be shifted. You will receive a warning before movement if you are in an area that will be shifting. _ ”

On the wall in front of them, a map appeared: for the moment, it consisted of three rectangles to represent each team’s staring area and the open area available for the sim. Two more rectangles appeared in white and blinked.

“ _ The highlighted areas represent safe areas where the opposing team will not be able to access to prevent cheating. _ ” The last seemed to be directed at McCree but he couldn’t be sure. He winked up at Athena’s cameras. “ _ No projectile will be able to travel through either side. _ ”

Over the comms, Brigitte laughed. “ _ No spawn camping? _ ”

“ _ No _ ,” Athena said, sounding sour. “ _ The first team to reach ten kills will win. Please confirm that you understand these rules. _ ”

One by one they sounded off as requested.

“ _ Confirmation received, _ ” Athena said primly. “ _ Winston, permission to start exercise? _ ”

“ _ Closing off comms now, _ ” Winston replied. “ _ Teams now on separate channels. Confirm _ .” They all confirmed, or so McCree gathered because a moment later Winston announced the start and the doors to their first team sim opened.

McCree looked at Tracer. “Let’s stick close,” he suggested. “One kick from Hanzo and you’re done.”

Tracer giggled. “He’d need to catch me first,” she teased but made sure to stick close.

They had only been released into the sim a few minutes before Athena announced in their ears: “ _ Agent McCree received a headshot; credit Agent Hanzo. Please proceed to starting point. Agent Tracer received a headshot; credit Agent Hanzo. Please proceed to starting point. Two points to Blue Team. The score is 2:0 in favor of the Blue Team. _ ”

Turning around, they found two arrows that had been stopped by the forcefields; nobody was behind them. Swearing, McCree stomped with ill grace back to the starting point.

As soon as they had entered the point, Athena announced, “ _ Reconfiguring maze, please wait. _ ” A few seconds later she said, “ _ You may return _ .”

“Stupid,” McCree growled. “Walking back and forth.”

This time they were much more careful, checking their corners as they moved around the maze. McCree heard a noise behind them and spun; a moment later he heard Tracer cry out. Spinning, he found Brigitte with her shield down and activated, her flail on its way to connect with his head.

He growled at Brigitte who winked at him when it froze mid-air, stopped by the barriers. “ _Agent McCree has been killed; credit Agent Brigitte_ ,” Athena announced. “ _Please proceed to starting point. Agent Tracer has been killed; credit Agent Brigitte. Please proceed to starting point. Two points to Blue Team. Score is 4:0 in favor of the Blue Team._ ”

“Good job, Hanzo,” he heard Brigitte say as she began walking away. “We’re rockin’ it!”

McCree looked at Tracer who was gritting her teeth. Neither of them liked losing. “Time to split up,” he told her. “You’re fast, you can get around Brigitte’s shield bash.”

“She was pretty fast with that,” Tracer said with a hint of reluctant appreciation. “The bash and the flail were what did me in.”

McCree grunted in agreement. “I’d hate to see what she can do without those barriers,” he said.

“All the same, I’d appreciate seeing it when she’s on  _ my _ team,” Tracer grumbled as they walked into their starting room and waited until the maze stopped shifting. “I’ll head off toward our right?”

“They get us again,” McCree promised darkly. “I’m goin’ wolf.”

Tracer gave him a concerned glance but shrugged. “Watch out for the hooves,” she advised and disappeared in a flash of blue.

Shaking his head, McCree began making his way carefully along the left-hand side of the maze. Now instead of equally-tall walls on all sides, there were other obstacles: half-walls, archways as if he walked down a village street all painted the same shade of gunmetal grey.

He caught sight of movement nearby just as he heard the rattle of Tracer’s guns. A moment later Athena said, “ _ Agent Brigitte has been killed; credit Agent Tracer. Please proceed to starting point. One point to Red Team. Score is 4:1 in favor of the Blue Team. _ ”

McCree fired and flinched, instinctively rolling away as an arrow was stopped by the force fields. He caught sight of Hanzo just as the centaur dodged out of the way; a moment later the arrow stopped in front of his face and McCree swore.

“ _ Agent McCree has been killed _ ,” Athena announced. “ _ Credit to Agent Hanzo. Proceed to starting point. One point to Blue Team. Score is 5:1 in favor of the Blue Team. _ ” Then, to McCree’s surprise, she said, “ _ Agent Hanzo has been injured. _ ”

Heartened (but only slightly), McCree began jogging back to the starting point. “Heard that?” he asked Tracer. “He was off on my side.”

Tracer laughed. “ _ On my way. _ ”

A moment later, Athena announced, “ _ Agent Hanzo has received health from Agent Brigitte _ .” McCree swore.

“ _ What is this? _ ” Tracer demanded. “ _ A fucking video game? _ ”

Athena made a noise over the loudspeaker. “ _ Why so salty? _ ”

Shaking his head at AIs that thought too highly of themselves, McCree waited in the starting point while the maze reconfigured.

“ _ Reconfiguring is creepy as shit _ ,” Tracer said flatly over the comms. “ _ Ohholyshit _ —”

As Tracer filled McCree’s comms with expletives, Athena announced, “ _ Agent Tracer has been killed; credit to Agent Hanzo _ .” Athena sounded inordinately smug. “ _ Proceed to starting point. One point to Blue Team. Score is 6:1 in favor of the Blue Team _ .”

Tracer said, “ _ That fucking wanker!  _ How the fuck did he get up there?”

“Where?” McCree demanded as he began leaving the starting point.

“ _ He’s on the fucking walls! Look fucking  _ up!”

McCree frowned. Look  _ up _ ?

He turned a corner marked by an arrow and realized what she was talking about; he also received an arrow to the face for his troubles. Flicking his tail smugly, Hanzo leaped across the walkways like a fucking goat and galloped away.

“ _ Agent McCree has been killed; credit to Agent Hanzo _ .” Athena announced. “ _ Proceed to starting point. One point to Blue Team. Score is 7:1 in favor of the Blue Team _ .”

McCree snarled to himself as he jogged back. “Wolf’s coming out,” he growled to Tracer over the comms. “Standby.”

” _ Shit _ ,” she swore. 

It produced its own kind of issues. While Tracer knew better than to assume that he would be a mindless beast, it did mean that if McCree shifted all the way, he wouldn’t be able to communicate with her.

Not to mention that he would need to leave his headset behind,  given that he wasn’t wearing the special one that was developed for him in Blackwatch.

Once he arrived at the starting point, he immediately began stripping off his serape, weapons belt, chestplate. He stripped down and said into the comm, “Shifting now. Going deaf and dumb.”

Tracer swore and then said, “ _ Acknowledged, cowboy _ .”

A moment later Athena announced another kill in Tracer’s favor bringing the score up to 7:2—she had managed to sneak up on Brigitte again.

McCree grinned as his mouth filled with sharp teeth and his face pushed out into a snout. Soon he was fully transformed and stretching out each of his legs.

He charged out into the maze, trying to find a walkway long enough to build momentum to jump up. How the hell a fucking  _ centaur _ of all things was able to do so was beyond McCree—and it made his hackles rise in annoyance.

Finding a hallway that he thought was long enough, he took a quick look around, craning his head to try and see if Hanzo was nearby. He didn’t seem to be so McCree charged at the next wall...

Just as Brigitte rounded the corner.

She slammed into his side with her shield, throwing him into the wall (McCree made a mental note to ask Athena where the hell her force fields were for that particular mess) and throwing off his jump. It meant that he only managed to get his upper body over the wall and instinctively he clung to it, digging his claws into the metal.

When he looked up, he found Hanzo standing right in front of him. The centaur grinned and released five shots in quick succession.

Fucking  _ somehow _ .

Athena stopped  _ these _ of course, and announced, “ _ Agent McCree has become a pincushion, _ ” instead of her usual report. McCree snarled at Hanzo, his ears pinned.

The centaur was frustratingly calm, trotting along the tops of the walls as if he were entirely used to it.

“ _ Agent McCree, please return to start _ ,” Athena said pointedly.

Fuck. That.

McCree scrambled up the wall and dodging the stopped arrows, charged at Hanzo. It was harder than he expected, having to focus on not falling between the walls. Multiple times.

He was nearly there, lunging at the oblivious centaur when suddenly Hanzo dropped down. Instead of lunging on Hanzo’s back he instead soared over him.

Suddenly the walls began to collapse on themselves, revealing Brigitte and Tracer. Brigitte’s flail was stopped by one of Athena’s force fields and turning, McCree found that the arrows that Hanzo would have shot into his unprotected chest and belly as he leaped had been stopped as well. 

“ _ Winner goes to the Blue Team, _ ” Athena announced. “ _ Final score: 10:2 _ .”

Tracer was scowling at Brigitte before she turned and stomped off.

Looking back at Hanzo, McCree snarled, baring his teeth. The centaur didn’t seem bothered even though his horse parts must have been panicking. It irked McCree something fierce, nevermind that he was a poor loser to begin with.

McCree snarled again when Hanzo  _ turned his back to him _ and trotted off to Brigitte, his tail held high. Proud.

Unafraid.

That bastard.

He was stopped by Lúcio skating excitedly over to the centaur, skidding to a stop in front of him. “Wow!” he exclaimed and McCree turned away in shame and frustration—which in turn made him even more frustrated.

How had Hanzo managed to get so deep under his skin? The centaur had barely been here a full two days and already McCree was losing control.

For a brief, terrifying moment he had considered leaping on Hanzo’s back for real this time, showing what a full werewolf could do against a centaur. He was a  _ predator _ , damn it, and the centaur had knocked him down far too many pegs for him to be comfortable.

He shook himself from nose to tail and stalked away.

“Agent McCree.”

Turning, he eyed Hanzo and bared a tooth at him in frustration.

“I apologize for…” Hanzo hesitated briefly, as if reordering his thoughts. “I will not apologize for the manner in which our team won, because that was the point of the exercise,” he said slowly. “However I will apologize because I know that it was entirely unwelcome for a prey animal to beat a predator.”

McCree bared his teeth at Hanzo and turned, stalking away. Add salt to the wound.

“You deserved that,” Angela informed him, holding his clothes in her arms. Reinhardt held his gear beside her, grinning from ear to ear. “For cheating.”

He tossed his head and reluctantly forced himself to shift back, ignoring the scandalized yells of Lena, Hana, and Lúcio. Reinhard laughed, seemingly distracted by Hanzo’s approach.

“Well fought!” he cried. “I was not aware that centaurs could be quite so nimble!”

McCree angrily pulled his shirt over his head but perked up when Hanzo replied, “I learned that trick from a friend.”

“What sort of friend?” Genji asked, sounding sulky. “I was not aware that you had another Herd.”

For a long moment Hanzo didn’t say anything and as McCree jumped into his jeans, he glanced at the centaur who now looked much more somber.

“He was a friend,” Hanzo repeated, voice flat. “We lived with a herd of satyrs and goat shifters.”

Torbjörn stalked up right up to Hanzo’s front hooves and stopped, propping his fist on his hip while squinting up at Hanzo. “Ye and I are goin’ to set a date,” he announced. “In the workshop,” he added. “T’ go over yer kit.”

Behind Hanzo, Brigitte giggled. “And me as well,” she said. She glanced at the crowd around Hanzo and said something in what McCree assumed was Swedish. Whatever it was made Hanzo’s ears twitch.

“Ye-e-s,” Torbjörn said crisply, dragging out the sound as he looked down at Hanzo’s strange shoes. “That as well. And sooner rather than later.” He cut a glance to Winston. “Are ye done?” 

Winston frowned. “I cannot make accurate predictions based on one set of data,” he said with a huff. “There are more tests and simulations to be run.” 

“Well,” Lena said, still sounding a little sulky. None of them liked to lose, especially the Old Guard. It was the hero’s mentality that had been ground into them from the old Overwatch. If they failed, who would finish the job? Who would save the world?

The whole lot of them had hero complexes, it was ridiculous. 

Not that McCree was immune to such thoughts, himself. It didn’t make it any easier to swallow the painful pill of knowing that he had been bested so thoroughly. The predator in him was particularly upset that it was by a  _ prey animal _ , too. 

Winston scowled at her but Lena seemed immune to his frustration. “You have a lot of data already,” she pointed out. “You know that you have a sniper that can climb walls and Brigitte was a good support for him.” 

“It was fun,” Brigitte agreed. “But if you want Hanzo to recreate that, you’re going to need to put it on hold. There are other preparations that need to take place before we can begin again.” 

Angela frowned. “How so?” she asked. 

For a moment, nobody said anything. Hanzo shifted on his hooves and McCree looked down at them, eyeing the strange bracers on his thin legs and the strange attachments of his hooves. He saw it at the same time Angela did, it seemed, because she said “ah”. 

“I don’t get it,” Lena said impatiently. 

Clearly uncomfortable, Hanzo shifted on his front hooves. “There needs to be upgrades to his armor and kit,” Torbjörn said gruffly. “His shoes aren’t fit properly an’ I saw him slipping on them a few times. If ye want to kill him, then make him go on.” 

The shorter man stared defiantly up at Winston who scowled and looked away. “How long will you need?” 

“Two days,” Torbjörn said immediately. “At least.” 

“Very well,” Winston agreed after a heavy sigh. “I will take the time to come up with a new scenario to better test his skills.” 

McCree looked up at Hanzo. His face was blank, his ears twisted backwards in displeasure. It happens, he supposed, when someone spoke for you as if you weren’t there. 

“Alright,” Brigitte said, slinging her shield over her back. She craned her head to look up at Hanzo with a bright grin. “You ready,  _ morbror _ ?” 

Hanzo nodded wordlessly and walked out with her. He was craning his head down attentively as she chattered away at him in happy Swedish. Looking for Genji, McCree found that he was no longer there. 

* * *

“That person I saw in the sim,” Genji said slowly when McCree climbed up to his solitary perch. “He did not feel like my brother. It was like somebody else was in his body.” 

McCree grunted and sat down next to him, his legs falling over the edge. “Who did it feel like?” he wanted to know. 

For a long moment, Genji didn’t answer, staring out over the sea. “I don’t know,” he said at last, sounding lost. “I had seen him fight like that in Hanamura when I went to recruit him. But at the same time, seeing it up close...it feels so surreal.” 

“How did he used to fight?” 

Genji shrugged. “With  _ naginata _ . He didn’t like the sword.” 

Not quite sure what a  _ naginata _ exactly was, McCree just nodded, making a mental note to look it up later. 

“And he  _ hates _ people looking at his hooves,” Genji added. 

Craning his head, McCree realized that Genji could see into the workshop. The garage doors were open against the summer heat, revealing Hanzo standing still while Brigitte worked on his hooves with a rasp. Torbjörn stood nearby, inspecting one of the strange hoof coverings that Hanzo had used. 

McCree hummed. “People can change,” he pointed out. “I doubt he’s the same person you knew.” 

“I know,” Genji agreed. “In some ways he’s still my brother but he’s also not the brother I knew. He’s not the same person that tried to kill me. I don’t know who he is.” 

Watching Brigitte and Hanzo, McCree wondered the same thing as well. He was a killer, that much McCree was certain. But he let Brigitte manipulate his legs and arm him as if he had known her all his life. A person’s kit was their life and to a centaur, their legs a connection to their entire existence. 

After all, if a centaur broke their leg, there wasn’t much to be done for them, even in this day and age. Not without great expense and great difficulty and a lot of biotics. 

Yet Hanzo is letting Brigitte handle his legs so easily, had not protested when she and her father had pointed out (or so McCree assumed) the horrendous state of his hooves. How they were too long, too ragged. They hadn’t even properly fit in his coverings and yet Hanzo had still worn them, had still run. 

_ Had still won against McCree _ . 

Despite his pride being hurt, McCree couldn’t help but be impressed. He wondered how much harder Hanzo would fight with proper gear and healthy legs. Thinking back to how stark Hanzo’s ribs and hipbones had been against his hide, McCree added,  _ and a proper meal _ . 

If  _ he _ needed to eat a lot due to his high metabolism, he couldn’t imagine what kind of food requirements that Hanzo would have, and how those needs had probably not been met very well while on the run.

McCree said nothing of his thoughts on the matter and Genji said nothing on his uncharacteristic silence or his lack of complaining on losing. Together they watched the Linholms and Hanzo until McCree’s stomach growled, reminding him to eat to replace the calories he had burned in the fight. 

“Hanzo will be hungry, too,” Genji said, sounding a little lost as he followed McCree inside. “Perhaps...I can make him lunch?” 

It wasn’t really a question, but Genji still looked at McCree as if expecting an answer. “Maybe,” he said vaguely. Then he thought again of how thin Hanzo was, thought about how thin  _ he _ had been before arriving to the Watchpoint where he had access to safe places to sleep and regular meals. 

“It won’t hurt,” he added reluctantly. “Here, I’ll help.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few quick notes:  
> -I like the idea of Brigitte jokingly calling Hanzo _morbror_ ("uncle"). I had toyed with the idea of the shifter "viruses" being matrilineal, which is why she uses the Swedish term for maternal uncle and why Hanzo uses the term for "sister's daughter".  
> -The idea that Hanzo can climb walls is entirely [IchigoWhiskey](https://twitter.com/ichigowhiskey)'s doing. The joke was that while on the run, he lived with a herd of goats and goat shifters and learned to climb from them. The problem is that while goats can climb really weird places and on really shear cliffs, it is due to the way that their hooves are shaped. They are a part of the taxonomic order Artiodactyla (even-toed ungulates), unlike horses who are of the order Perissodactyla (odd-toed ungulates). They are able to move their two toes together or apart so that they can better grip rocky surfaces. The shape of their hooves also aids in grip. Horses, having only one hoof, would not have this assistance--hence Hanzo's special shoes. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to everyone that's been leaving kudos and comments. It makes me so happy to see your excitement for this. I have a lot of fun with this series so I'm always so glad to see that people enjoy it too. 
> 
> Feel free to come and yell at me on twitter at [dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). I'm trying to get better about posting updates there, such as when fics will be posted on Ao3 or other sites. 
> 
> ~DC


	2. Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree distrusts the new recruit, a centaur by the name of Shimada Hanzo. He doesn't want to dwell on the fact that they are far too similar. 
> 
> No herd, no pack. 
> 
> Just two loners, two sinners, trying to be the people that others see in them.

McCree froze in the doorway and eyed Lúcio suspiciously. “Am I interrupting something?” he whispered.

“Nah, man,” Lúcio said easily, voice low but level. His hands continued to move slowly and steadily over Hanzo’s body. “What’cha got?” seeing McCree’s nervousness, he smiled. “Just keep your voice low and even and he should be fine. I don’t think he’s rested like this in a while. Not sure he had anyone treating him nice.”

Despite his hangups, McCree grimaced. “You got an extra brush?”

Lúcio  _ did _ have an extra brush and McCree very carefully edged around Hanzo’s hindquarters to his other side. “I don’t think he’s had a good brushing in a long time,” Lúcio told McCree. “That’s why it’s taking so long. I’m late for our meeting, aren’t I?”

“It wasn’t a formal thing,” McCree assured him and Lúcio sighed.

They fell silent when one of Hanzo’s ears flicked toward them but didn’t stop the slow, steady motion of their hands. McCree found himself about to shush him and stopped himself. He needed to remember that this wasn’t a  _ horse _ , that this was Shimada Hanzo.

Proud warrior.

A kin-killer.

Currently half-dozing while being groomed.

His shaggy coat fought the brush and McCree struggled to keep his movements gentle and even. Clumps of dirt and mud kept the bristles from moving freely, and he frowned. The prince was a scruffy mess and a part of him wanted to be smug about it. Unseated from his throne, cast aside to live as a pauper, without a proper herd.

But at the same time, McCree could understand in a way that made his heart ache. Hanzo—like McCree, himself—didn’t have a pack with which to sing. He no longer had a herd.

His personal care—coat, hooves, mane, tail—became second to his survival. As long as he could run, as long as he was alive, it was fine.

And centaurs weren’t like humans, anyway. They couldn’t easily reach their own bodies—they were herd animals, craved a group not only for stability, but to take care of each other.

“It’s really a shame,” Lúcio said conversationally. “His coat is  _ gorgeous _ even all scruffy like this. I wonder what it would look like when everything’s untangled.”

McCree hummed. “He may need to be clipped,” he said just as evenly. Hanzo’s tail swished and he paused but the centaur made no other sign that he had noticed McCree’s presence. Perhaps he hadn’t. “Depending on how much he’s backed up, it might be easiest to just start over.”

“I doubt he’d like that,” Lúcio pointed out. “But we can ask him later. I think I got a set of clips that would work for him.”

“We should get a new set,” McCree warned. “At heart they’re similar but his coat might ruin yours.” He sighed and wrestled a clump of dark fur from the bristles of the brush. “We might need to bathe him. Let the water soak in and ease out these tangles.”

Lúcio made a low sound in agreement. “Poor guy,” he murmured. “I can’t imagine what it must be like. I always had someone at my back and here…you can see that he didn’t. Visual proof.”

For a long time, McCree said nothing because  _ he _ knew. Hanzo’s story was similar to McCree’s, after all. No herd, no pack. He wondered if the state of his own fur was as bad as Hanzo’s. Would he begin to doze as well if someone were to groom him? Touch him as softly as Lúcio was for Hanzo?

Suddenly McCree felt jealous—and in turn guilty for his jealousy.

And then everything fell into place. Hanzo’s distance was just him—a stallion—at the edge of the herd, the same as McCree had been not so long ago. He doesn’t know his place, doesn’t know if the lead stallion would accept him. Would he be the scapegoat, the outcast in every herd or pack? Or would he be accepted? 

Shaking his head, McCree paused and let his fingers run through Hanzo’s coat. He as thin but not terribly so, and sometimes it was hard to tell with centaurs and horses anyway. For all he had such dainty hooves and legs he was sturdy and lean with muscle.

Japanese breeds—of horse and centaur—were short and stocky, looking more like ponies than the long-legged horses that everyone imagined, and Hanzo was no different. Perhaps a bit taller, a little long in the leg. Enough that he was clearly a horse and not a pony.

Not that McCree was  _ too _ familiar with Japanese horses. Not that he had too much to do with them—or with centaurs. Perhaps Hanzo  _ was _ a Japanese breed. It would make sense given the traditionalism of the Shimada Clan. Then again, he could be a cross: powerful marriages made strong allies.

McCree wondered what his true coat looked like. The ruffled mess that he wore looked more like he hadn’t completely shed in a few seasons. Would he be sleek? Would his coat be dark grey or black? By McCree’s eyes he thought that Hanzo’s coat might be dark as ink and despite himself—despite despising Hanzo—he couldn’t wait to see it.

He let his hands trace Hanzo’s back, perhaps a little self-indulgently, from wither to hindquarters. So Lúcio wouldn’t accuse him of feeling up their teammate, McCree traced the same path with the brush in his other hand. It was worse that Hanzo leaned ever so slightly into the touches and made a low whickering noise and McCree’s lips thinned.

“Have you ever met a centaur?” Lúcio asked. “Before this?”

McCree hummed. “Once or twice,” he admitted. “Never this close. And I met one that I didn’t know was a centaur.”

“Yeah,” Lúcio agreed. “Fucked up, man.”

They continued to work in silence and McCree settled at Hanzo’s flank, where he  _ definitely _ couldn’t reach to groom himself. Almost immediately Hanzo’s tail whipped him, or would if it was more than a hands-length long.

Hanzo shifted on his hooves and before he could stop himself, McCree made a mindless, soothing noise. He and Lúcio backed away until Hanzo fell still again. McCree saw that his back had tensed, his ears had flicked back toward them.

Miraculously, he didn’t wake.

“What was  _ that? _ ” Lúcio wondered. “Is he still asleep?”

“I think so,” McCree murmured and cautiously put his hands back on Hanzo’s hindquarters. Hanzo’s tail flicked again and the leg nearest McCree shifted, ready to lash out. He stepped out of the way and once his hands left Hanzo’s flank he settled. “Hmm.”

Lúcio peered over Hanzo’s withers. “‘ _ Hmm _ ’ what?”

Shaking his head, McCree peered closer at the shaggy fur there. Yes, there it was! Exactly why Hanzo, even dozing as he was, didn’t appreciate anyone touching him. Not on his right flank.

McCree very cautiously ran his fingers along that patch of fur and felt the raised scars of a brand. Everything fell into place.

Herd animals didn’t like being snuck up on, but McCree would bet that if Lúcio touched Hanzo’s flank on the other side he wouldn’t be as uncomfortable. It was a fear that ran even deeper than that instinctive, bone-deep fear of predators.

Someone had branded Hanzo—it was most likely those snake-like Elders. It was ownership—and perhaps Hanzo had agreed to it, perhaps not—but more than that, Hanzo needed to rely on others whether he wanted to or not.

It was that or let it become infected.

McCree swallowed.

A mark of possession in a place that Hanzo was not allowed to feel that he was anything more than property, than a pet. McCree wasn’t sure if this was before or after the incident with Genji but perhaps it didn’t matter.

Perhaps it was just bad enough that it was there in a place where Hanzo couldn’t cut it off, couldn’t get rid of it, couldn’t do anything about it.

Shaking his head, McCree walked around Hanzo’s hindquarters, put the brush away, and left quickly.


	3. Bath Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree was napping when Athena informed him that the probationary agent has moved outside of the Watchpoint boundaries. Suspicious, McCree goes to investigate. 
> 
> He does not find anything he expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place after [Coat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363735/chapters/46070527) and before [Rescue Mission]() and [Meat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363735/chapters/46071808). 
> 
> Part of this was inspired by [this video on twitter](https://twitter.com/anwen_horse/status/1143485135288881152?s=09).

_ “Agent McCree.” _

McCree glanced in the direction of Athena’s speakers. He toyed with annoyance—he had been enjoying the warmth of the sunlight on his fur—but Athena wouldn’t have contacted him if it wasn’t important.

_ “Probationary Agent Hanzo is leaving the boundaries of the Watchpoint.” _

That certainly got his attention. He briefly considered grabbing Peacekeeper but decided against it. If the traitor decided to run, he would need the speed of his other form.

McCree stretched, checked that his gear was still safely hidden away, and began trotting toward the paddocks. He picked up Hanzo’s scent and followed it into the nearby trees and past—as Athena had said—the boundary markers toward the little creek just off base.

“—hardly any better,” Hanzo was saying as McCree cautiously approached.

McCree slowed, checked the direction of the wind, and ducked behind a thick clump of bushes. He was surprised to find that Hanzo wasn’t running, as McCree had assumed—and he also wasn’t alone.

“Yes, but this is much better than a hose,” Lúcio pointed out. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Hanzo grunted. He was submerged up to his withers in the creek, spinning around in the deepest part. Then, as McCree watched, he leaned his upper body into the water, letting it wash over him.

Mystified, McCree watched as Hanzo tossed his head, wiggled his shoulders under the water, and realized that he was  _ playing _ .

Lúcio laughed, his shirt already off and is jeans kicked aside to reveal dark green swim trunks. He held one of the brushes he had ordered for Hanzo in his hand as he approached the creek. “How’s the water, big guy?”

He yelped when Hanzo lifted his head and splashed him. “You’re the worst,” he teased as he waded knee-deep into the water. “Come here so I can brush you out.”

Carefully, McCree lay down and watched as Hanzo frolicked a little more before submitting himself to be patiently brushed by Lúcio. Clumps of his coat were washed away by the water and McCree again felt a pang of jealousy. He held his breath, waiting for Lúcio to get to Hanzo’s brand to see what would happen but aside from Hanzo’s ears twisting back in distaste and his hands clenching, he showed little reaction to it.

“We all have our scars,” Lúcio said cheerfully. “Fortunately, it looks like your coat is long enough to cover it. Hopefully we won’t have to clip you at any point, though.”

Hanzo said nothing, his short tail twitching.

Lúcio waded out of the water and returned with another brush which he used to go over Hanzo’s coat again. Without the haze of multiple coats, Hanzo’s fur was looking darker and McCree found him once more wondering what his true coloring was, what he may have looked like when he had servants to care for him. Was he sleek? Did he have a shaggy coat?

He couldn’t imagine the Shimada with shaggy coats, even in winter. They seemed to be the type to keep their coats clipped professionally with embroidered silk blankets to keep warm. Farriers to treat their soft little hooves, servants to braid their manes and tails, to brush out their coat to a glossy shine.

If he could focus on those aspects, he could almost convince himself to hate Hanzo.

These days it was harder to hang on to that. He had to remind himself that Hanzo was a kin-killer, that he was not to be trusted until he proved himself.

“Whoa!”

Alarmed at Lúcio’s yell, McCree turned back to the creek in time to see Hanzo lifting the DJ out of the water by an arm. The water was tugging Lúcio’s legs and McCree guessed that the current might not affect Hanzo, but it had tried to sweep Lúcio away.

Hanzo dragged him closer and helped him to sit astride his back. Lúcio immediately shifted to sit sidesaddle, still coughing and sputtering. “Thanks, man,” he said, scrubbing water from his face. “Whew, that current’s pretty strong, huh?”

“Rest a bit,” Hanzo told him in a clipped voice, his ears canted backwards, clearly uncomfortable. “I will take you to the shore so there isn’t a repeat incident.” He paused. “Hang on.”

Lúcio put one hand on Hanzo’s bare waist, the other tangled in his mane and McCree felt his ears pin back. Fortunately, he managed to swallow his growl-whine before it gave his position away.

Seated like that, Lúcio looked like he was claiming ownership and McCree couldn’t tell if he was unhappy because he was jealous…or by some misguided protection instinct to keep Hanzo from feeling like someone’s property again.

Hanzo waded through the water with Lúcio wobbling on his shoulders, and McCree watched as the DJ slid down on the muddy banks of the creek. “Yuck!” he exclaimed as the silt got between his toes. “Thanks, Hanzo.”

But the centaur’s attention wasn’t on him. His eyes were scanning the banks, his ears perked and alert.

“What’s wrong?” Lúcio asked quieter, scanning the bushes as well. McCree held very still in his hiding spot.

Hanzo tossed his head, shifting his weight warily. “It’s hard to explain,” Hanzo said quietly. “Someone is out there.”

Carefully, Lúcio edged toward his gear, eyes on the trees. “Human? Hybrid?”

Hanzo snorted and scented the air again. He couldn’t smell McCree but somehow knew he was there. Probably instinct telling him that there was someone watching. He pawed at the bank of the creek, his ears pinned back.

Very carefully McCree backed up and loped away. He didn’t have a right to watch their private moments, anyway.

* * *

“Look at you!” Brigitte said appreciatively. “You clean up nice!”

Hanzo seemed pleased and at Brigitte’s gesture, spun in a tight circle. “I’m still drying off, or I would wear a blanket,” he said apologetically.

“No,” Hana said drowsily from the tables. “Show off those leggies.”

Predictably, everyone ignored her. “Are you up to me treating your hooves, too?” Brigitte asked. “Looks like you’re due for a trim.”

Hanzo shifted, clearly uncomfortable, when everyone looked down at his hooves. “Due for a trim” was putting it lightly. “If you have a moment,” he said reluctantly.

“Get some lunch,” Brigitte suggested. “And then meet me in the workshop. I can get you set up then.”

Hanzo bowed and she walked out. Ignoring McCree, Hanzo pulled out ingredients to make a salad. Perhaps it was just the predator in him, but McCree couldn’t figure out how anyone could live off of that rabbit food. Perhaps that wasn’t fair though—Hanzo kept to a strictly vegetarian diet and look at him.

Stewing in his frustration, McCree bit harder into his burger. He wondered if the full moon was coming up—he wasn’t usually this antagonistic, didn’t typically have this many mood swings.

That must be it.

He took another big bite of his burger and tried not to stare. It was hard, considering that Hanzo was more or less “naked” by human standards.

As if sensing his gaze, Hanzo’s hind legs shifted, his tail twitching. McCree looked away to reach with greasy fingers for the ketchup.

Hanzo turned around and found a place at a table far away from McCree, lying down on his side and curling his legs up as he ate. Hilariously, he would still probably be about as tall as anyone else sitting at the table had there been anyone else there.

His ears were pinned as he ate and McCree realized that his attention must be making him uncomfortable—no prey liked to be beneath the gaze of a predator. It didn’t matter anyway: McCree was nearly done with his meal.

Hanzo finished his salad around the same time as McCree finished the last of his fries and grunted as he climbed to his feet. They both rinsed their dishes and loaded it in the dishwasher in silence but when McCree moved to part ways, Hanzo said, “Oh? You’re not coming along?”

There was just enough biting sarcasm in Hanzo’s voice to have McCree’s hackles rising. “Why, do you need me to hold your hand to the workshop?”

“You seemed to think that I needed supervision in my bath,” Hanzo sneered. His tail lashed and it would have been more dramatic if only it hadn’t been sheared unevenly short, barely long enough to cover his tailbone.

McCree felt the words die in his throat and his face flush with mortification. He  _ should _ have felt more defensive, especially given the way that Hanzo’s ears were pricked aggressively forward.

Challenging.

Daring him to deny it. Daring him to say  _ something _ .

He clung to that challenge with both hands and snarled, a hint of predator rumbling in his voice. Hanzo shifted his weight to his hind legs in a clear warning: charge and get kicked. “I see nothing wrong in checking to see that a  _ probationary agent _ is not breaking the rules.”

Hanzo bared his teeth in a strangely predatory way for a centaur. “It was hardly against the rules when the outing was approved by multiple parties.”

At that moment Angela rounding the corner and frowned, seeing their stalemate. “Hanzo,” she said. “Do you have a moment? I wanted to see if I could schedule you for a check-up.”

“My apologies, Dr. Zeigler,” Hanzo said stiffly, not taking his eyes off of McCree. “I have an appointment with Brigitte to tend to my hooves. Perhaps afterwards?”

Angela’s frown deepened and she looked back and forth between the two of them again. “That’s fine. I will be free for the rest of the day. Just come and find me.” Hanzo gave her a slight bow without taking his eyes off of McCree which, if he wasn’t so angry at, he would have found amazing. “It’s good that I ran into you McCree, though.”

Surprised, McCree looked away, turning to Angela in surprise. “What?”

He heard Hanzo walk off with a snort that sounded like a mocking laugh as Angela began scolding him about eating habits and transformation strain on his body.

* * *

It just so happened that McCree had gotten burger grease in the joints of his arm and needed a solution to clean it out. If anyone had it, it would be Torb.

It was an honest reason but he hated feeling the need to explain himself to  _ Hanzo _ of all people.

One of his hooves was lifted on a stand while Brigitte filed down the overgrown portions. It was a testament to how poorly they had been taken care of that Brigitte was still only on his front hooves and McCree struggled not to feel pity—or sympathy—and tried to cling to his anger.

It helped that upon seeing him Hanzo’s ears pressed flat and he sneered at McCree.

“Is something wrong?” Brigitte asked, immediately sensing Hanzo’s shift in mood. Seeing McCree in the door, she made a face. “Ah. I see. Put your foot down and tell me how that feels.”

Hanzo obeyed and shifted his weight on his front hooves. “There’s a bit of unevenness on the inside.”

“Yes,” Brigitte agreed absently. “I can see it when you shift. I still have more cleaning to do on the inside of your hooves so we’ll fix that in just a bit.” She put down her large file and picked up her clippers in what seemed to McCree to be a too-aggressive gesture. “Did you need something? Or are you here to gawk?”

“I’m lookin’ for your father,” McCree grumbled back. “Got grease in my joints.”

Brigitte used her clippers to gesture toward the back. “He’s over there.” to Hanzo she said, “I forgot to ask earlier, but do you need shoes?”

Deliberately not listening, McCree stalked across the workshop toward the area that Brigitte indicated. He tried to ignore the eyes he felt on the back of his neck.

Torb hadn’t been pleased to learn of what he had done to his arm. He had forced McCree to take the arm off for it to be properly cleaned and so McCree had to wait, down an arm, in the same room that Hanzo and Brigitte were.

Fortunately, he was ignored and he struggled to keep from watching. He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew, Torb was shaking him awake and Hanzo and Brigitte were gone.

“Like cats,” Torb grumbled as he helped McCree to reattach his arm.

“What?” McCree asked, gritting his teeth.

Torb grunted. “They’re like cats. Centaurs, shifters, the lot of them. You can only wait for them to do things in their own time.”

“What are you talking about?” McCree asked, breath hitching as the last connection snapped in place. He immediately began doing his dexterity exercises, touching his thumb to each finger from pinkie to pointer and back.

“The centaur. Hanzo. He’s a good sort. You two are two alphas tryin’ to figure out the peckin’ order. Once you get that settled, you’ll get on fine.” Torb nodded to himself, as if entirely convinced.

McCree snorted. “I doubt that,” he said, groaning as he stood up. “But I appreciate the thought.”

“I know a thing or two about shifters,” Torb told him with a rough laugh. “Trust me. Half of my kids are shifters of some kind. I know what I’m talking about.” Still, he didn’t seem to care of McCree believed him or not because he said, “Well, that’s about that. Next time you think to eat burgers, wear a glove. And be sure to keep up with maintenance on that thing!”

McCree warred with dismay as Torb began to scold.  _ I suppose I deserve this _ , he thought sullenly to himself.  _ But I don’t have to deal with it now _ .

“Alright,” he grumbled. “Alright, I get it. I’ll take good care of it. Promise.”

He would do no such thing, of course.

Waving to Torb, he walked quickly out of the shop, ignoring the prickling feeling of eyes on the back of his neck. When he turned, he found that it was only a cat that was on the large side of “only” being a cat, with long orange fur and green eyes.

Flipping Brigitte off, McCree stalked off to his corner of the base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it. 
> 
> Feel free to come and and yell at me on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). 
> 
> ~DC


	4. Rescue Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A contact reaches out to Hanzo, requesting a rescue. 
> 
> McCree is suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after [Coat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363735/chapters/46070527) and Bath Time but before [Meat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363735/chapters/46071808).
> 
> I'm going to be really honest here...I wrote this before I read "What You Left Behind". 
> 
> Or rather, I wrote this after reading about 12 pages and then stopping because my lunch break ended. I kept some of the aspects of it, such as Mauga and Nguyen meeting Baptiste in the bar, but that's about it.

“I don’t like this,” Winston said slowly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “This puts us in a difficult position.”

“How did he get in contact with you?” McCree wanted to know. “You weren’t clear on that.”

Hanzo glanced at him, looking down his nose. The table was a little too tall for him to lie on his side as he did in the mess hall so he was standing, a little ways away from the table so that everyone else wasn’t craning their necks to look up at him.

It had the unfortunate side effect of making him appear much haughtier, as if  _ he _ were in charge of the meeting.

“One of my contacts was able to find me during our last mission,” he said at last. “Baptiste had thrown out feelers through our…mutual acquaintances. One of them managed to get the message to me, along with some of his data.”

“So he knows you’re a part of Overwatch,” McCree grumbled.

Hanzo’s ears twitched. “If we had been wearing Overwatch gear then I would assume that he does,” he said flatly. “But we hadn’t. A contact just happened to see me.” His lips twitched. “I’m hard to miss.”

“Yes,” Winston said dryly. “I don’t like this at all but…” he gestured to the glowing tablet next to him. “The information that Baptiste has managed to smuggle out is useful. And in this fight, against Talon who has much more resources at their disposal than we do…” he sighed. “We need all the help we can get. Agent Hanzo.” Hanzo’s ears pricked forward. “How do you believe that we should proceed? What are your thoughts on this?”

For a long moment Hanzo didn’t answer, shifting on his front hooves. “This is…a difficult question,” he said at last. “I believe Baptiste…and I believe the…acquaintance that found me. However, I am not certain of the chain of contacts that the information had to go through to reach me. On one hand, had I been alone, I would answer his call; on the other, that is no longer my call.”

“You trust this Baptiste,” Winston said. Even though it wasn’t a question, Hanzo nodded in confirmation.

At the same time, McCree sneered and said. “So you work with Talon.”

Immediately, Hanzo’s ears pinned. “I do not,” he said with a vehemence that surprised McCree. “I have seen the way they operate and I want no part in it. If I were not so… _ useful _ to them, they would have killed me. No. Baptiste and I met outside of Talon.”

There was more there that made McCree’s hackles rise.

“He left once to pursue a freelance career,” Hanzo continued, his ears pressed flat. One of his hooves lifted as if to paw at the tile before he stopped himself. “Because his values did not line up with Talon’s. That was when we met and became acquaintances.”

“Acquaintances do not send secret messages to each other,” McCree sneered.

Hanzo gritted his teeth. “He’s my Herd. The closest I’d had since…” he glanced at Genji and then away.

Nobody spoke for a long time. “I believe you,” Brigitte said quietly at last. She glanced at Reinhardt, then Winston. “For what it’s worth, I’m for this.”

Hana made a face. “There are too many variables in this. Is there a chance that this Baptiste could have done this under duress? Or someone could have contacted one of your associates in his place?”

“It’s possible,” Hanzo agreed. “Especially if they have figured out that his ideals no longer align with Talon.”

“And you intend for him to join Overwatch?” Hana pressed.

“That is not my call to make,” Hanzo said immediately. “However, I believe that his information, should this be true, would be useful to Overwatch.”

Winston grunted. “Volunteers only,” he decided. “Brigitte?”

“I’m in.”

Winston looked at Hanzo. “I assume you will be as well.”

It wasn’t really a question. Hanzo bowed his head. “Of course.”

Ana cleared her throat. “I will watch your back.”

Growling, McCree dragged a hand down his face. “Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll go along.”

“I’ll need to as well, to fly,” Lena pointed out.

Winston nodded. “It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to have anyone else go,” he said. “This is a large enough team already.”

“We don’t know who else might be there,” McCree grumbled. “But between us five I think we’ll be fine.”

McCree looked at Genji who was, to his surprise, not looking at his brother.

* * *

“What’s on your mind?” McCree asked, finding Genji after the meeting. Down below they could see Hanzo running through the paddock that he had appropriated for his use. He had worn a path along the circular fence. “Does he just run in circles?”

Genji made a soft sound. “We were taught to meditate while moving,” he said quietly. “Another reason that we can no longer meditate together—he does so on his hooves and I sit in place.”

“He’s meditating?” McCree squinted down at Hanzo but he only looked like he was running in circles. A part of him felt almost bad that the little paddock wasn’t that large. He grunted and turned to look at Genji. “You okay?”

“It just…it’s a strange thought,” Genji admitted.

“Which part?”

Genji shrugged. “All of it. A lot of it. That he’s…” he shook his head. “He acts so guilty most of the time, like he hasn’t been a part of a proper Herd since he left and yet…”

“And yet he had a Herd at some point,” McCree agreed grimly. He sighed.

“It makes me realize how much I don’t know about Hanzo,” Genji murmured. “It makes me wonder how much I don’t know about him. How much I had never known about him.”

They watched Hanzo slow to a stop, his ears pricking forward alertly. The long grass was moving. His lips moved and he turned slightly; a moment later a large orange cat leaped up on his hindquarters before curling up. Hanzo twisted to look at Brigitte and even this far away McCree thought that he could see the brow that Hanzo arched at her.

To his surprise, Hanzo only shook his head and began walking, following the dirt track he had worn in the paddock. McCree wondered if walking was more conducive to meditation than running; perhaps Hanzo had been burning off nervous energy. He knew that if his Pack had been threatened, he would be a hot mess, a nervous wreck; perhaps Hanzo felt the same way about his Herd.

Even more so if this Baptiste was the only Herd that he had left.

“Take care of him?” Genji asked abruptly. “I know how you feel about him but…please?”

_ He’s the only Herd I have left, too _ , Genji didn’t say but McCree could hear anyway.

McCree nodded, lips twisting into a scowl. Taking that as his promise, Genji scrambled down and McCree returned to watching Hanzo. He could see something moving through the grass and saw exactly when Hanzo noticed her too.

Tossing his head, Hanzo pawed at the grass. He said something and then shook his head; a moment later, Ana in her cat form jumped up on Hanzo’s shoulders. He gave a little hop of surprise, sending Brigitte tumbling off of her perch on his hindquarters. Ana jumped down as well and Hanzo turned in a quick, nervous circle before stopping.

McCree saw his lips move, his ears pinned, and then he tossed his head. Hanzo nodded and both cat-shifters jumped up on his back once more. Ana lay down on his back beneath his withers and Brigitte took her place on his hindquarters once more. Hanzo’s ears ticked back and he shifted his weight before walking forward again.

_ Shifters are like cats, _ Torb had said.  _ They’ll like you in their own time. _

McCree tugged out a cigarillo and lit up now that he didn’t have to worry about Genji’s delicate respiration system. “Like hell _ , _ ” McCree muttered.

* * *

“I didn’t know that you were friends with a pretty little pony, Baptiste,” the giant Mauga said as he circled Hanzo. “Think he’d give me a pony ride?”

Hanzo moved faster than McCree gave him credit for, shifting his weight forward and kicking back with both hind hooves. He was certain that he didn’t need a werewolf’s sensitive hearing to hear the  _ crack _ of the big man’s ribs.

By chance or design, Hanzo struck high on Mauga’s chest, near his collarbones; the points of his hooves and the points of his shoes dug scarlet crescents into the giant man’s skin.

“Go!” Baptiste said and leaped astride Hanzo’s back in an easy vault as his hind legs came back down.

A glance from Hanzo was all it took; McCree ripped off his shirt and forced his transformation.

The little man (only in comparison) that Baptiste had called Nguyen tried to step forward to stop them. But his attention was on Hanzo and Baptiste and McCree had somehow escaped his notice; McCree shoved him aside with a massive paw. He roared, sending the already-alarmed crowd in the bar into a panic. By then, Hanzo and Baptiste had already run, leaving McCree in the bar with two Talon agents.

Before they could do anything—before Mauga could turn his attention to McCree—he shoved his way into the back room, into the kitchens, praying that there was a back-alley exit.

Instinct told him to duck and it saved him a bullet to the brain, probably from Nguyen.

He shoved open the exterior door and stumbled outside as the comms crackled to life. Lena reported Talon incoming. Hanzo reported that he and Baptiste were headed north, predicted that Mauga would follow; he requested backup.

McCree ran down the winding alleyways and only by coincidence ran into Hanzo and Baptiste, nearly getting shot for his pains. “He’s with us,” Hanzo told Baptiste before he could shoot McCree in the face.

“Strange friends you have,” Baptiste replied and lowered his rifle.

They continued through the tight alleyways, Hanzo’s strange shoes striking sparks on the stones. “I hope you can climb, gunslinger,” Hanzo told him.

“Shit,” Baptiste said and wrapped both hands around Hanzo’s torso.

As McCree watched, Hanzo approached the end of the alley at a dead sprint instead of slowing for the sharp 90-degree turn to exit to the main road. Then Hanzo  _ leaped _ and in a way that made McCree’s hackles rise in a sense of  _ wrongness _ , he  _ climbed straight up the wall _ to the flat roof.

McCree skidded to a stop with a short  _ yip _ of surprise and stood on his hind legs to peer up at Hanzo. “Better hurry, puppy,” Batiste called down, his eyes somewhere behind McCree. “The mountain comes.”

Looking over his shoulder in alarm, McCree found that Mauga had stepped into the alley, carrying two enormous guns larger than most humans. He looked uncomfortably like the Heavies that McCree had encountered in the past and he lunged down the sharp turn of the alley as gunfire caused the brick behind him to  _ explode _ .

Knowing better than to emerge into the main road, where Nguyen was no doubt waiting, McCree dug his claws into the crumbling plaster and thinking a prayer, scrambled up the wall. Hanzo and Baptiste were three rooftops ahead of him, leaping over the narrow alleys between buildings.

Grunting, McCree threw himself after them, struggling to catch up.

“The puppy made it,” he heard Baptiste tell Hanzo who barked a rough noise of laughter.

McCree bared his teeth at them and turned when Baptiste made the motion; he saw Baptiste’s leg nudge Hanzo’s side and wondered if Hanzo found it demeaning to be ridden—and treated—like a horse. The thought made him growl. It was none of his business—this was  _ Hanzo’s _ Herd and Hanzo wasn’t a part of his Pack.

It wasn’t any of his business.

“Big jump,” Baptiste warned and braced himself, one hand tangled in Hanzo’s mane.

Gunfire erupted on their tails, close enough that McCree could feel the passing of it on his flanks as he landed. He was glad that it missed; he’d hate to explain to  _ anyone _ how he had gotten shot in the ass.

Above them, a ship roared; Lena announced that she could see Hanzo and McCree, though no comments were made on how either of them had managed to make it to the rooftops.

The next jump, gunfire whizzed past and this time McCree  _ did _ get shot in the ass, though at least he was protected by the rest of it by the armor of the  _ Orca  _ as the doors closed.

* * *

“—never worked on a werewolf before,” someone was saying. He had an almost French accent.

There were hands on his ass and another pair in his ruff, gently stroking along his forehead and ears. “Easy,” Ana said near his head. “This is what you get for being shot in the ass. We’ll have to get you the Cone of Shame when we get back to base.”

McCree whined, his ears twisting.

“To be fair,” the first voice said with a laugh. “I’m sure he didn’t  _ mean _ to be shot in the ass.” There was an undercurrent of worry in his voice but McCree knew that it wasn’t for him.

He tried to turn his head to look at the person behind him but Ana’s fingers tightened in his fur. “Hold still,” she chided. “He’s still pulling bullets out.”

“Nearly done,” the man behind him said. This must be Baptiste.

And he must be on some kind of wonderful painkillers.

McCree drifted off again when Ana began rubbing his ears again.

* * *

“He’s a shifter, too,” Genji explained to McCree while keeping him company in Medical. “I don’t know what kind, though. I don’t recognize the smell. Some kind of grass-eater though.”

McCree grunted halfheartedly. His mind was more on the bald patch on his ass and the threat of the Cone if he itched. Did Ange know how  _ itchy _ stitches were?

“He works in a volunteer clinic,” Genji continued. “That’s all he’s been able to talk to Hanzo about. How he’s terrified that Talon will go after it.” He sighed. “I don’t think they want to talk to me, either. Nothing I say…” he trailed off into sullen silence.

_ To be fair, _ McCree thought but couldn’t say through his muzzle.  _ You probably told him not to worry about it; what will be will be. Que sera sera and all that. That doesn’t fly _ .

McCree lifted his uninjured hind leg and scratched behind one of his ears. He supposed that he should go and thank this Baptiste person for digging the bullets out and stitching him up. Although he wasn’t particularly thrilled that his fur had to be shaved.

“Hanzo never liked anyone riding on his back,” Genji said wistfully and McCree looked up at his friend, finding him staring out the window. “But he seems fine with this Baptiste there.” he said the man’s name with distaste, as if he had personally wronged Genji.

For the first time McCree wondered if Genji was clinging to the past as much as Hanzo was.

It was a disturbing thought that McCree didn’t like.

McCree yawned and thought that he probably shouldn’t tell Genji of what he had seen in the streets. Of Baptiste riding Hanzo like they had done so a thousand times; of Hanzo fucking  _ climbing up a vertical wall _ .

That last bit still unnerved him. He’d never seen a centaur do that.

To be fair Genji did that all the time, but Genji had two legs, not four. He had cybernetic implants that let him do that; Hanzo had four hooves and two hands.

Centaurs didn’t  _ like _ to be high in the air, anyway. Most of them had a fear of heights that McCree could relate to.

Ange poked her head in. “I’m surprised that you haven’t scratched,” she said dryly and McCree whined. “I was almost hoping to put you in the Cone. The world could always use more pictures of that.” McCree’s ears pinned. “Let me check on your stitches. Dr. Augustin did a good job so I’m not too worried.”

Sighing, McCree let her poke and prod at the wound over his hindquarters, poking at the skin too close to his tail for him to be comfortable. He looked up at Genji who was staring out the window.

“Angela, what kind of shifter is Baptiste?” Genji asked abruptly.

“None of your business,” Angela told him crisply. “If that is information that you want to know, then you need to ask him yourself.”

Genji didn’t say anything for a while.

“And don’t try to use the ‘need to know information for Overwatch’,” she added. “Because he’s not an agent, he’s a  _ consultant _ . Your brother considering him part of his Herd doesn’t mean that you are entitled to all of his information, either.”

Genji didn’t respond but his shoulders slumped sullenly. “I feel like everyone knows my brother but me.”

“Then maybe you should talk to him,” Ange replied simply. “And see that he is more than just his past.” She gave McCree a pointed look as well and he lowered his head and ears submissively. Her severe expression cracked a little and she scratched McCree’s ears. “I’m going to get my scissors,” she told him. “Your stitches can come out, but I recommend against changing back for another hour. And if I find that you have scratched at your wound, I  _ will _ put you in the Cone.”

Genji paced and McCree put his head down with a sigh.  

* * *

Hanzo watched McCree approach but seemed much calmer than McCree would have expected. He ate an apple beneath the shade of a tree next to the paddock fence. Unlike most times that McCree had seen him in the paddock, he was wearing a blanket and a tight-fitting shirt.

Stopping a polite distance away, McCree sat down and debated how to ask Hanzo where Baptiste was.

“Does the puppy want an apple?”

Startled, McCree jumped back, looking around in alarm before thinking to look  _ up _ . There sat Baptiste, in the boughs of the tree, eating an apple as well.

“Good to see you up and about,” Baptiste continued. “You have some high-quality biotics here.” There was something sullen in his voice but it and the dark look on his face disappeared quickly. He tossed an apple in the air and caught it. “Do you want an apple?”

McCree hesitantly wagged his tail and Baptiste lobbed the apple at McCree who tried to catch it in his jaws but missed. It thumped against his neck and he snorted. To their credit, neither Hanzo nor Baptiste laughed.

Looking at Hanzo, he realized that the centaur wasn’t even looking at him. His ears pricked forward attentively whenever he moved but he didn’t seem bothered by McCree’s presence.

“Animal hindbrains do that sometimes,” Baptiste said, seeing the direction of his gaze. “Sometimes if he’s relaxed, he just kind of fades away a bit. Just let him eat his apple and he’ll be fine. Somehow he doesn’t seem too bothered by you.”

There was a lot of subtext in that and McCree remembered Genji’s words. Baptiste was a shifter, too.

_ Some kind of grass-eater _ , he had said.

Likely Baptiste didn’t like McCree’s proximity. He couldn’t figure out why Hanzo was so calm, though—and clearly, neither could Baptiste. Perhaps it was because McCree was about the same size as his horse parts—in a pinch, he could probably very easily escape McCree.

Or maybe not.

McCree lay down and holding it between his paws, bit into the apple, rocking it in his teeth to rip off a chunk that he could eat. Maybe Hanzo was just used to his scent. He hadn’t seemed too alarmed the times that he had seen McCree in his wolf form around base or on missions.

Likely, McCree didn’t register as Herd in his mind (and McCree doubted that he ever would) but was at least Familiar.

He bit into the apple again and wagged his tail. Above him, Baptiste laughed.

“You’ll forgive me please,” Baptiste said. “ _ My _ animal hindbrain doesn’t recognize you and doesn’t like the idea of you being too close. It didn’t appreciate it in Haiti, and it doesn’t appreciate it now where all the scents are unfamiliar.”

McCree  _ whuffed _ in agreement and munched on his apple again. More talking could wait and Baptiste seemed to agree. Both of them fell silent, enjoying their snacks and the warm summer sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conversation that McCree references, where he spoke to Torb, happens in the next short I'm going to post, "Bath Time". That will be posted tomorrow...probably. 
> 
> Also, if you look on [series page for Cupid's Pony Express](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1303655), you can find a rough timeline of each chapter. For now I'm going to keep the chapters in the order of posting to hopefully prevent confusion later, but once I mark this complete I will rearrange the chapters into chronological order. 
> 
> I think that's all of the announcements I have for now. As always, I hope you enjoyed. You can come and yell at me on twitter at [Dracoduceus](). 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> ~DC


	5. Sneaking a Bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her eye was trained on her target, wide and unblinking as she took his hulking shape. His back was to her so he couldn’t see her staring as he lumbered through the kitchen. He was probably the biggest human she’d ever seen, even taking into account the German Crusaders she’s met.
> 
> He would be a formidable target to take down but if she was careful, she wouldn’t have to. Sneak in, get what she wanted, and then sneak out. Easy as that.
> 
> For that, though, she’d need to be vigilant.
> 
> She’d need to focus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know how I got to thinking of this. 
> 
> Originally, I had imagined Ana as a medium-sized cat. I had also toyed with the idea of her being an [Egyptian Mau](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Egyptian_Mau) or an [African Wildcat](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/African_wildcat). In the end I decided that I liked her being a lioness, albeit a strangely small one. For one, it would fit in with Egyptian mythology and the idea of Sekhmet, who I have seen discussed as another side of the goddess Bastet: Bastet was the goddess of the women of the home and Sekhmet was the goddess of war.
> 
> Ana came into her shifting later in her life than most would typically discover the virus. As a result, her lioness form isn't quite full-sized. I imagine her to be around the size of a snow leopard or mountain lion--not small in the grand scheme of things, but certainly not the size of a full lioness. To a person of normal height (ie not Reinhardt), she would be around knee-height or just below mid-thigh when standing. In comparison, I have seen videos of lionesses standing at about hip-height or just below against people.

Ana held very still, only the very tip of her tail moving.

Her eye was trained on her target, wide and unblinking as she took his hulking shape. His back was to her so he couldn’t see her staring as he lumbered through the kitchen. He was probably the biggest human she’d ever seen, even taking into account the German Crusaders she’d met.

He would be a formidable target to take down but if she was careful, she wouldn’t have to. Sneak in, get what she wanted, and then sneak out. Easy as that.

For that, though, she’d need to be vigilant.

She’d need to focus.

Her tail twitched and she opened her mouth slightly to better take in the smells.

Ana pitied those that were too fearful of their other form to use it to their advantage. She could _almost_ see it in those who came late into their shifting—like she had—but at the same time, it was ridiculous to live in fear of a part of you.

Yes, her eyesight in her other form in comparison to her human form was very different, was unnerving at first, but that was easy to get used to. Her much more sensitive senses of hearing and sound were at first overwhelming, but time and patience allowed her to get used to them.

The sensitive “sensors” in her mouth, that supplemented her already powerful sense of smell, was usually too far for many. Why? Horse shifters (and centaurs, to an extent), other feline shifters, all had such abilities.

Flehmen response, they called it. It allows for air to be drawn against an auxiliary olfactory sense organ. She’d lost count how often it had saved her life, at this point.

Her target moved and Ana pricked her ears forward, listening. He was humming to himself as he cooked, oblivious to her presence.

At this point she was close enough that she could hear him clearly, even over the sounds of him chopping enormous handfuls of garlic. It made her nostrils burn but she ignored the pain. She would need to be very careful as she moved in.

She moved back, very slowly, as the enormous man turned. If she moved too quickly, he might see the movement out of the corner of his eye and turn to look.

But he didn’t turn toward her: he turned toward the refrigerator, as if he had forgotten something. This would put his back to her, would put distance between him and her target. Not for very long, but just long enough for her to move.

Now was her time; she needed to move fast. She bunched her muscles, her hindquarters wiggling as she prepared to pounce. Her ears and whiskers tipped forward eagerly.

Her other side knew that it was time to pounce and was excited; she needed to rein it in, to keep it controlled. One wrong move and she would be discovered.

There! He had taken a step toward the fridge, one of his enormous hands on the handle of the door. Now was the time to move.

Ana exploded forward, moving silently as she made a run from the dining area where she hid to the kitchen.

To the counter.

She leaped!

She—was caught in midair.

“Ach!” Reinhardt cried and gave a booming laugh that hurt her sensitive ears. “ _Liebling_! You know better!”

Most people might find a lioness to be too large to carry, but not so for Reinhardt. He lifted her like most people would lift a large cat, his big hands beneath her arms as he hefted her over his head.

Disgruntled, she put her paws on his face to hide his stupid smile, careful of her claws—she’d hate to be the reason he lost his other eye, after all.

“Did you think I didn’t know?” he teased her and she grumbled low in her throat. “But you need to wait, just like everybody else, _Liebling_.”

Ana grumbled low in her throat, her ears twisting back in displeasure. Her tail twitched.

“How about this?” Reinhardt asked, shifting her to his hip where he carried her like a child. She vowed to get him back later and from the crinkle around his eyes, the way he smiled, she knew that he was doing this on purpose.

She peeled her lips back from her long teeth. _I’m going to tear you apart_ , she promised him silently. _You won’t be able to_ move _without thinking of me. You won’t be able to walk without hobbling around and you get to tell the team why_.

Though he couldn’t hear her, he could clearly understand her silent promises—a sign of how well they knew each other.

“I look forward to it, _Liebling_ ,” Reinhardt murmured, voice a low rumble. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her snout.

“Eew,” Hana teased. “Old people in love.”

Twisting, Ana snarled at her. She curled her tail smugly when Hana jumped—she may not be a shifter, but she still had a rabbit’s instincts. Beside her, Dae-hyun sported dark scales like freckles, looking a stiff breeze away from transforming all the way in panic.

Ana bared her teeth in a smug grin. She’s still got it, even held as ridiculously as she was.

“Here,” Reinhardt said with the tone of someone bestowing a great honor upon someone. Ana’s ears pricked forward but he wasn’t reaching for the _Schweinshaxe_ like she hoped he would. He _did_ reach for a bowl of treats that she hadn’t been looking for but could perhaps be convinced to accept for the moment.

The salted sprat weren’t good for her in this form—too much salt—but Angela could hardly fault an old cat her vices. Reinhardt put her back on the ground and carefully held out the bowl for her to take.

It took some doing—and Reinhardt shifting the sprat into a bowl that was easier for her to grip in her jaws—but Ana left, smug, to munch on her treats nearby. After she settled, she looked up and found Reinhardt smiling fondly at her.

_You sap_ , she thought at him, though he couldn’t hear her like this.

Using a careful paw, she pulled out a single salted sprat and ate it, savoring the burst of salt on her rough tongue and the crackle of its bones as she chewed and swallowed it.

_You’re still not forgiven_ , she thought at Reinhardt when she found him still watching her with that fond look on his face.

As if he could hear her, he gave a booming laugh. “I never thought I was forgiven.”

Ana’s tail flicked, pleased. She returned to her offering of sprat while Reinhardt continued to cook.

Across the room, Hanzo sat at the table, nursing a cup of tea. He ignored everyone, no doubt distracted by Brigitte brushing his mane and hair.

To Ana’s surprise, he turned to look at her. “Shameless,” he teased, clicking his tongue at her. If his lips hadn’t been twisted in a mocking smile, she would have growled.

She ate another sprat and crunched it between her teeth harder than strictly necessary. Hanzo and Brigitte laughed. They fell silent again, listening to Reinhardt’s off-key humming as the kitchen was filled with the savory smell of roasting pork.

* * *

The next morning Reinhardt shuffled into the kitchen, his back bowed. He eased himself—with much dramatic groaning—into a chair and sighed. Though they couldn’t see Soldier: 76’s face through his mask, they knew that it was terrifyingly blank; he broke his vintage “Jack Morrison’s #1 Fan” mug by gripping it too hard.

“I hope you’re happy,” Soldier: 76 growled.

Reinhardt chuckled and then hissed in pain when the motion jostled him too much. “Very.”

Ana, who had walked into the kitchen unnoticed, draped her arms around Reinhardt’s neck and kissed his cheek. “Good,” she said smugly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information on the rough chronology of the series, visit the [series page](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1303655). I try to keep that list updated with pieces as they are posted but also with pieces that will eventually be posted. 
> 
> For more information on what I post and where, come and follow me on twitter at [dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus)! 
> 
> ~DC


	6. Meat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mission gone wrong leaves Hanzo and McCree to fend for themselves in the woods. They are being chased and they are running out of time as they wait for the drop ship to pick them up. 
> 
> Also, McCree learns something surprising about centaurs. 
> 
> He has no idea how to feel about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** off-screen animal death, blood and gore, animal death mentioned (hunting)
> 
> This was based on some articles I read about recorded accounts of horses consuming meat, salt fish, or blood. Coupled with the idea that centaurs also have a human-like part that may or may not be able to consume meat, this idea was born. 
> 
> (Hanzo normally is strictly vegetarian by choice but he likes whipped cream and when his back is against the wall and it's a matter of survival...well, he does what he needs to.)

“It wouldn’t be fair to ask you to carry me, too,” McCree pointed out.

“No,” Hanzo agreed breezily. “You’re heavy.”

Ignoring the jab, McCree gestured to the packs that Hanzo had been assigned. “That’s bad enough. If you trust me not to savage you, I will run as a wolf.”

Hanzo scowled at McCree. “I have met many wolves,” he said frigidly. “And they are as much a monster as their nature dictates. If you think that you could keep up with me, then do as you will.”

“Wait,” McCree blurted before Hanzo could begin trotting into the trees. “Will you carry my gear?” he asked a little sheepishly.

Rolling his eyes, Hanzo stamped a hoof. “Hurry up. We need to get going.”

For the first time in years, McCree felt self-conscious while he undressed, bundling his clothes in his bag and then fastening the pack to Hanzo’s back. Once he was sure that it was secured, he began to transform.

“Hurry,” Hanzo said, looking down at McCree. “We need to cover a lot of ground.”

At first McCree thought that Hanzo wouldn’t be able to keep up—the ground was slick and there were a lot of treacherous roots in this area of the deep woods, but Hanzo found a game trail and led them down that, galloping through the trees.

McCree let his tongue loll out of his mouth in glee as he opened his stride and followed Hanzo. It felt nice to stretch his muscles, to race after Hanzo. To his surprise it didn’t feel like Hunt—it felt like Pack Run.

He barely resisted the urge to howl his glee but the way that one of Hanzo’s ears ticked back, he might have sensed it somehow.

They followed the game trail deeper into the woods and took a break beside a creek. Hanzo stood watch, ears swiveling while McCree drank deeply. When McCree looked up at Hanzo, he found that Hanzo had taken the flask from his hip and was drinking deeply.

Very carefully, McCree took it from him and filled it with the water from the stream. Hanzo nodded his thanks and drank deeply. McCree filled it again and Hanzo clipped it back to his hip.

When they began running again, this time McCree was in the lead.

Throughout their flight they said nothing to each other, somehow able to communicate seamlessly with each other without words. McCree just _knew_ when Hanzo needed a break, or when the ground was too uneven for him to safely travel, just as Hanzo knew when to stop for water, when to offer McCree strips of jerky from the pouches around his hips.

The most recent time Hanzo’s hand had wandered. He had offered the chunk of jerky and when McCree had taken it in his mouth, his fingers had brushed against his snout, the back of his knuckles brushing against the thick fur of his crown.

Despite himself, McCree had been ready for the scritches, had looked forward to it. He had nearly shoved his head closer to Hanzo’s hands before catching himself.

But he had finished his jerky, shook himself, and eyed Hanzo. He was sweaty, foam forming where his gear was rubbing against where it brushed against his coat.

They would need to stop soon. The sun was going down, anyway.

Hanzo couldn’t see as well in low light.

But they had some time yet, and could get even more distance in the meantime. McCree trotted deeper into the woods and Hanzo followed.

Soon they found a clearing suitable for their camp and McCree transformed back into his human form, stumbling and falling flat on his face, not used to two legs after running on four for hours. “Take your gear back,” Hanzo said shortly. “If you set up camp, I will hunt us some dinner.”

McCree frowned. Normally Hanzo was snacking all day to keep up with his metabolic requirements but with a run like this, he could scarcely have done that. “Will you be okay?” he asked, concerned even as he obeyed, fumbling to open the buckles one-handed.

“I can manage a hunt,” Hanzo replied, sounding more tired and amused than insulted so McCree didn’t say anything else, not wanting to push his luck. “I will be back soon.”

McCree watched him disappear into the trees and shook his head. Attaching his arm had him hissing in pain; then he got dressed and began setting up camp as requested.

When Hanzo returned nearly an hour later, McCree nearly shrieked, torn between horror and a bizarre kind of arousal. The skinned body of some poor animal—a deer, by the hooves, and a good-sized one too—was draped over his back and its blood turned the foamy sweat on Hanzo’s coat pink. What was more horrifying was the fact that the entire front of Hanzo’s chest, chin, and mouth were dripping with blood.

The source was easy to see: he was clutching a slippery piece of offal in his hand, which he was snacking on as he walked casually into the clearing.

“I took the kidney and liver,” he told McCree. “And the heart. Sorry,” he added and took a bite out of the raw meat in his fist. “Do you think this is enough?”

McCree swallowed. Hanzo looked like something out of a horror movie and McCree was struggling to control his arousal. What was _wrong_ with him?

“Yeah,” he said in a strangled squeak.

Hanzo’s nose twitched and if he scented McCree’s... _problem_ , he said nothing about it, holding still for McCree to take the carcass off of his back. He continued to munch on his macabre snack as if entirely unbothered.

“I’m not in the habit of eating my kills this fresh,” Hanzo said conversationally as McCree dragged the deer off of Hanzo’s back. “But I was hungry, so I apologize.” When McCree glanced up at him, he found that Hanzo had finished whatever offal was in his hand and was licking his fingers clean.

Shaking his head, McCree hauled the carcass toward the fire. “I didn’t expect you to bag a whole deer,” he admitted. “I made a roasting spit for smaller game.”

Hanzo shrugged as he carefully laid down his bow. “I think we could both use the energy,” he said a little sheepishly. “I can eat my portion raw, though.”

“How much do you want?” McCree asked. “Should we split it?”

For a moment Hanzo considered it. “I think I can make do with a haunch,” he said. “Depending on how fast we need to get going. I saw some wild clover nearby which would make a fine meal but I doubt we have a lot of time to collect a substantial amount.”

Imagining Hanzo—covered in blood—lying in the middle of a field of clover and wildflowers, munching on a handful at a time was too much and McCree hid his face. “I could eat half of this,” he admitted. “A haunch will tide me over, but if we’re doing another run tomorrow, it would be best to fill up. Let’s split it and see where we are. We can always hunt tomorrow.”

Hanzo nodded. “I can eat meat raw,” he added. “And I imagine your wolf can as well. We will hardly suffer out here. Although while you still have a mouth that can speak, we should discuss keeping watch.”

McCree considered it. “I hate to say it, but I’m easier to deal with if I need to sleep during the day. Take the first shift and I will remain on watch the rest of the night.”

“I will carry you while you sleep in the morning,” Hanzo agreed. “We can probably lighten the load as well. That will allow me to move faster even with you loading me down.”

Before he could stop himself, McCree stuck his tongue out at Hanzo. “It’s all muscle, baby.”

Hanzo barked a rough noise of laughter. He drew his knife and leaning down, deftly cut apart one of the deer’s haunches for himself. “I’ll claim this piece before you eat it all. Transform then, and eat the rest so that we can douse the fire.”

“Will you be okay in the dark?” McCree asked, concerned despite himself.

“I have goggles in my bags,” Hanzo replied, already carving a chunk of meat for himself. He shoved it in his mouth, a sign of the hunger that he wasn’t otherwise showing. “It will allow me to see in low light. I’ll get them in a minute.”

McCree eyed Hanzo’s bloody hands and his, which were much cleaner. “If you don’t mind, I can get them out of your stuff for you.”

For a long moment Hanzo watched him, his mouth moving as he chewed. “In the side pouch,” he said at last. “It shouldn’t be too hard to find.” It wasn’t and McCree handed it to Hanzo before undressing and transforming.

Hanzo was kicking dirt on the fire and McCree watched him in the light of the dying embers. He smelled like blood from his hunt and most terrifyingly…

He smelled like Pack.

Turning, McCree dug his teeth into the deer and ripped a chunk free. They sat in silence, eating their meal as the trees grew darker and the stars began to appear in the sky. McCree ate his meal faster, cleaning off as much as he could from the bones. He licked his lips and eyed Hanzo’s knife just as he was paring the last bit of tendon and gristle from the haunch in his hand.

Seeing him looking, Hanzo turned and looked at McCree. At some point he had pulled his goggles down and now peered at McCree in the evening light. To McCree their camp was well-lit, the stars and moon providing more than enough light, but he wondered what Hanzo might think of being in the dark with a predator large enough to bring him down.

“Bring your bones,” Hanzo said. “You’re wasting meat. I will cut them off for you.”

Wagging his tail, McCree obeyed as Hanzo folded his legs and laid down on his side. Dumping the carcass in front of Hanzo, McCree settled on his belly beside Hanzo’s hooves and leaned against his side.

They both froze.

_Pack_ , his wolf side whispered. _He is Pack_. McCree wondered if Hanzo thought that he was Herd.

Then Hanzo reached down and began carving strips of meat from the carcass, cleaning the bones until they shone clean. He fed each piece to McCree by hand, making no comment on McCree’s wagging tail or the slobber that made his hand sticky.

Hanzo was meticulous and soon there was nothing left of the carcass but bones that Hanzo tossed away. “Go to sleep,” he said, nudging McCree as he heaved himself to his feet. “I have first watch. I will wake you after midnight.”

McCree grumbled though he could feel exhaustion dragging at him now that he had a full belly, a chance to rest, and someone from his Pack to keep watch. He was too tired to even argue that Hanzo wasn’t Pack, to even be embarrassed at nudging his nose into Hanzo’s shoulders to solicit scritches.

To his surprise, Hanzo obeyed, burying his fingers in McCree’s thick ruff and scratching at the perfect place behind his ears. His hind leg and tail began thumping happily as he crooned and shoved his hand more insistently into Hanzo’s hand.

“Go to sleep,” Hanzo said again, sounding amused as he took his hand away.

McCree watched him find a post nearby, standing and moved to curl up nearby. He wanted to be _next to_ his Pack, but this was okay. Away from those deadly hooves. Hanzo would not hurt him on purpose (at least not right now) but accidents were possible. For a moment he watched Hanzo, his body still slick with sweat and blood.

Before he fell asleep, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, McCree thought—or perhaps the wolf thought—that Hanzo might make a fine mate one day.

* * *

Hanzo slept on his feet, not feeling safe enough in such dangerous territory to get a good REM sleep. Something cool and clever about centaurs.

During his watch, McCree found that Hanzo had cleaned out some of their bags and had left a pile to be discarded. Seeing nothing in that pile that he could justify carrying, McCree spent some of his watch digging a hole in a nearby group of rocks to bury their stash. He covered the disturbed ground with branches and chunks of moss before returning to his watch.

Hanzo’s ears twitched, following him as he moved around, but Hanzo didn’t seem to wake, his upper body leaning against a tree.

Come morning, McCree woke him at dawn and transformed into human form just long enough to put Hanzo’s gear back on him (though he insisted that he could do it himself). “I’m good for a bit longer,” he said. “Let’s get some good running this morning and then I’ll hop up. Sound good?”

Hanzo sniffed the air, his ears twitching. “A hard run this morning,” he agreed grimly. “Your nose may be better but I think we have company.”

Swearing, McCree transformed. In the distance he could hear a faint buzz; the wind brought the smell of old-style gas-powered engines. He snarled and nodded at Hanzo.

They ran hard, occasionally stopping for water and for Hanzo to consult the small GPS he carried. He directed them north and they soon found a small trail that allowed them to move faster.

Unfortunately, it would also allow their pursuers to move faster as well.

Hanzo was breathing hard when they stopped for their next break. “I got in contact with the extraction team. They’re coming in hot. There’s a cliff up ahead about eight minutes’. Their ETA is five minutes.”

A hard run, then. All-out sprint.

McCree eyed Hanzo. His sides were heaving and his coat was foamy with sweat.

“I’ll be fine,” Hanzo said grimly. “Are you up for the run or do you want to ride?”

Like _hell_ McCree would make more work for Hanzo. He shook his head emphatically.

“Suit yourself,” Hanzo said. “Let’s go. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

McCree let Hanzo lead. Though he had stayed up most of the night, he had greater endurance than Hanzo who was clearly exhausted. Not that McCree wasn’t as well, but McCree wouldn’t _die_ if he ran too hard.

Then there was the understanding that Hanzo needed to be strapped in.

His stomach dropped. To fly, Hanzo needed to be strapped in. He wasn’t a shifter that could transform back into human form and slide into a chair.

And his legs were just about twigs. A good knock and they’d snap.

Hanzo’s speed began to flag and his breathing was uneven. Not good. McCree nudged his snout against Hanzo’s hindquarters and dodged a panicked kick.

Snarling, McCree snapped his jaws and Hanzo sped up.

When the trail opened up, Hanzo tried to turn but McCree was on that side, snarling and snapping to urge him forward, toward the cliffs. Toward the waiting ship.

Now was the moment of truth. The Hanzo that McCree was used to was gone, fainted; all that was left was the centaur brain. What would he be more afraid of? The ship or McCree?

Praying that Hanzo would forgive him, McCree leaped and drew his sharp claws along his friend’s hindquarters. _Keep your attention on me_ , McCree thought to Hanzo, wishing that he could hear. _Keep going, keep going!_

Luck was with him—and Reinhardt, who seemed to understand centaurs, was there to meet them. He caught McCree as he forced the shift backwards, replacing claws and pads with hands and feet. Then McCree was dropped as there was a cry: Ana yelled, “ _Sleep!_ ” she yelled it again and McCree knew nothing more.

* * *

When McCree opened his eyes, he was _starving_.

“You overdid it with your shifting,” Angela told him tiredly. “Reinhardt’s on his way with your meal. Do you want some water?”

She was already moving, pouring him a glass of water that she helped him to drain. Then he was handed the pitcher which he drained as well.

“What happened?” he croaked.

“From what we had been able to gather, the mission went south,” Angela said dryly. “Agent Hanzo requested an emergency evac. We managed to extract you two with minimal damage.”

McCree swallowed. “Is Hanzo okay?”

“A minor sprain,” Angela replied. “You didn’t hurt him when you goaded him though. I have him on light duty right now until he recovers.” Then she paused. “You didn’t know that he could eat meat, did you?”

McCree swallowed hard and shook his head. He tried very hard not to think about Hanzo emerging from the trees, blood dripping from his mouth down his chest.

As if sensing his confused arousal, Angela smirked. “While it’s true that most centaurs prefer a vegetarian diet, they are capable of processing proteins without damage to their kidneys. Sometimes they eat it for the salt, such as old stories of horses and centaurs eating salted fish in lean winters, but sometimes they are in need of sustenance. How did you think that centaurs were able to survive the most inhospitable places in the world?”

The door to his room opened and Reinhardt shuffled through, carrying a large stock pot of steaming stew. “Good morning!” he bellowed. “You’re finally awake, I see. It’s just as well! I think Hanzo was ready to eat the rest of this!” seeing the look on Angela’s face, he snorted. “Don’t worry, I have another pot ready for the two of them! I can only carry one at a time, and I know that McCree hasn’t eaten yet!”

Angela smiled. “Go on,” she said. “I need to check in on Hanzo.”

She left and Reinhardt groaned as he settled in the seat she vacated. Then he smiled, his good eye twinkling with good humor. “You didn’t know that centaurs could eat meat, huh?”

Groaning, McCree shifted so he couldn’t talk and shoved his snout into the stew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love it? Hate it? Have questions? Feel free to come and yell at me on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). If that's not your thing, I can also be found on tumblr at [ClassyWastelandBread](https://classywastelandbread.tumblr.com/) but I am almost never there so expect a delay. 
> 
> I love hearing from you!
> 
> ~DC


	7. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After retirement, Hanzo and McCree settled on a quiet ranch. 
> 
> However, parts of their past still linger...especially when Silver begins to ask a few questions. 
> 
> Questions like "who was my mother?" Questions that don't have good answers...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silver and mentions of his mother, Copper, are found in my [Bendoverwatch Kink Week](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17829614/chapters/42069296) prompts. 
> 
> Please note that there are some spoilers in this chapter for that storyline.

“You silly goose,” McCree said with a laugh, holding Silver’s hoof in one hand and the hoof pick in the other. “This is why you don’t go running without your shoes. At least not on the gravel walk. You’d think you’d learn by now.”

He picked the stone out and inspected his son’s hoof. Silver had a slight limp when he walked up to McCree and he wanted to be sure that his son hadn’t seriously injured himself. It wasn’t likely given how easily he had pulled the stone out, but he wanted to be sure. A touch of biotic ointment would make sure he was fine, so long as it wasn’t serious enough to call Angela over.

“Father.”

McCree looked up. It was strange to have to look  _ up _ at him. Despite the years that had passed, Silver would always be a scrawny little runt of a foal to him. It was still rare that he spoke—usually he saved his voice only for swearing—and that he did so now made McCree cautious.

“I spoke to Hanzo,” Silver said slowly when he saw that he had McCree’s attention.

“Oh?” McCree asked. “About what?”

Silver eyed him, swishing his tail thoughtfully. Unlike his father he kept it bobbed short, just above his hocks, and had a tendency to dye it and his mane. This month it was dark blue, but already there were streaks of green appearing as the dye faded.

“I was talking to Windteeth,” Silver said in his slow way. He always seemed to hesitate on his words, as if he weighed each before releasing them.

McCree nodded after a moment to place the name. Windteeth was a centaur in one of the herds nearby. They were a more traditional sort and were uneasy by the homestead’s many carnivorous shifters. Somehow Silver managed to make friends with some of them, including a young female around his age named Windteeth.

“She was describing her lineage,” Silver explained. “And was…unhappy that I was so uncentaur-like to not be able to do the same.”

McCree and Silver both rolled their eyes. Despite being friends with her, McCree knew that Silver was often frustrated by Windteeth’s strange views of the world. She was likely also frustrated by Silver, but that was just a result of their differing upbringings.

It was even a joke around the homestead, though nobody mentioned it whenever Windteeth or her herd came to visit. They would often tease each other for being uncentaur-like, one of Windteeth’s favorite phrases to use on Silver and Hanzo.

More than once, McCree wondered how she would react upon meeting Genji but decided that perhaps it was for the best that he rarely visited.

“She was unnerved that I have two fathers,” Silver added. “And she asked who had foaled me.”

McCree saw where this was going. He gently set down Silver’s hoof and put the pick away, reaching for the biotic ointment. Silver let him pick up his hoof again and spread the ointment along his frog and sole of his hoof.

“Looks like we need to get Aunty Carrot over here to trim your hooves,” McCree said, eyeing the ragged growth along the wall. It wasn’t anywhere near dangerous, but he supposed it was time for a change.

“I want to try hot shoes,” Silver said. “Is that okay?”

McCree patted Silver’s side with his other hand. “Sure. I’ll send her a message. I’m sure she’ll  _ love _ to make you up a set of shoes.”

Brigitte’s dislike of making nails and horseshoes, the first projects she had while learning blacksmithing, was a running joke with Silver. It was probably why he occasionally asked for metal shoes instead of using the carbon fiber ones that Hanzo preferred.

McCree cleared his throat. “So Windteeth asked who foaled you. And you asked Hanzo.”

If he hadn’t been holding Silver’s hoof, he knew that the colt would have begun pacing nervously. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Hanzo…said that he killed her.”

“He did,” McCree confirmed. “I was there—or rather, I was on surveillance for that mission. Did he tell you why?”

“I didn’t want to hear it at the time,” Silver admitted. “That’s why I was on the gravel path.”

_ Running away from problems seemed to be in the family, _ McCree mused to himself. But to be fair, centaurs thought best on their feet—that’s likely what Silver had been doing.

“Do you want to hear it now? From me?” he asked. “Or do you want to talk to Hanzo about it?”

Silver hummed. “Will you scratch my back?”

Reaching out, McCree obeyed, finding Silver’s favorite spot between his hipbones and giving it a good scratch. Silver’s tail flicked, pleased.

“There,” McCree said, looking back at the hoof still held in his hand. “Looks like you’re all dry, now.” He eased it down. “You know the drill—don’t go near the gravel path without shoes, especially for the next day or so.”

Silver whickered in agreement. His pale eyes watched McCree thoughtfully. “I…would like to hear your perspective of the story,” he said very slowly. “And I want to know…why you had not mentioned it.”

Standing straight with a groan, McCree rolled his neck and sighed when it cracked. Normally Silver would have teased him that he was getting old but now he only watched McCree seriously.

“Come on,” McCree decided. “Let’s go to the greenhouse. I can water the plants while we talk.”

Silver followed obediently as McCree put away the hoof pick and ointment and walked out of the barn toward their modest greenhouse. It had become a pet project of McCree’s. This area’s soil wasn’t good for a lot of the flowers and vegetables that McCree wanted to grow—not to mention, winter was a  _ bitch _ to deal with.

Hence, the greenhouse.

Over the years it grew from just a tarp-covered shed into something more permanent with help from Satya. She liked to visit for the plants and she and Hanzo would spend a great deal of time out in the nearby grasslands, doing strange things like watching the waving grass against the horizon or the jagged lines of purple mountains against the pale sky.

It was the closest that Hanzo got to meditating while stationary but the both of them seemed to like it so it wasn’t like McCree would say anything against it.

Their kids also didn’t go near the greenhouse without McCree’s permission—for secret discussions, it was the perfect place to be.

“It was through Overwatch—post-Recall Overwatch,” McCree explained as he carefully unwound the hose and fitted the nozzle over the end. “We had gotten a tip of a dangerous new drug showing up in England. It appeared to be in the testing phases—a lot of people ended up sick, in comas, dead.” He made a face. “There were ties to Talon, of course. This drug was highly specific, and was able to work on shifters and humans alike.”

Silver nodded. Growing up, he had known of the strife between Overwatch and Talon. And he understood the meaning that McCree was laying down.

The shifter viruses were very aggressive in attacking other types of infection. It also had a side effect of increasing metabolism, making it much more difficult for many kinds of drugs and alcohol to have much of an effect. Drugs that could affect  _ multiple _ shifters as well as humans required extensive research.

And extensive funds.

“We weren’t entirely certain what kind of drug it had been intended to be,” McCree continued grimly. “But its primary side effect seemed to be what had introduced it into the population as a recreational drug.” He laughed. “I’m told that it was like ecstasy—it produced an endorphin high and induced arousal. Unfortunately, as you could imagine, that led to a lot of different problems for many reasons.”

Silver nodded, making a face. “It sounds like a half thought-out plot for a poorly-written spy novel,” he said dryly.

“Something like that,” McCree agreed. “Point was, that was how Talon was funding further research. Sell the prototype of the drug on the street while they worked to perfect the new stuff. That would also mean that they would have an unlimited supply of tests.” He made a face. “Unfortunately, they got greedy—either Talon or the drug dealers—and flooded the market. At first the hospitals thought it was an illness, but then more people began dying.”

He shook his head and began walking up and down the neat rows, checking on each plant as he watered them. Silver followed behind him with a produce basket, picking what was ready.

“They did tox reports and found the drug, did a bunch of legwork for it before realizing that it was far too big for them. The plus side was that what they  _ could _ find out was that it was beyond the common person to synthesize.” He gave a ragged grin. “Small blessings. They needed to track the source and get rid of it—then eventually the smaller cells would begin to shrivel up.”

“That or they would make themselves obvious as they searched out more,” Silver added. “Was my dam a part of this?”

McCree made a face that Silver couldn’t see. “She was,” he agreed. “She was the owner of a nearby fetish club, for lack of a better word. Catering to those whose tastes tended toward shifters and nonhumans. Hanzo and Aunty Carrot went undercover there—Hanzo as a server, Aunty Carrot as his assistant. She also helped out around the club while he was there as a stagehand.”

He let Silver have a moment to process that as he inspected a nearby plant that was looking a bit seedy. If it was aphids or fungus, then it was only a matter of time for it to spread to everything else.

Fortunately, he saw no signs of either. He made a mental note to keep an eye on it and continued on.

“What was my dam’s name?” Silver asked at last. “And…what did she look like? Did you meet her?”

“Copper. Her name was Copper—at least the name that  _ we _ knew her as.” McCree told him. “I didn’t meet her, but Hanzo worked with her almost every day. She was a blue roan, just like you, but she was a bit smaller. I think you got your height from your sire.”

Which was, of course, a funny thing to say—Silver was still a bit of a runt for his age, even knowing that his mother was a pony. He was still leggy enough that McCree was certain that he would grow to be a bit taller…eventually.

Silver nodded. “What happened?”

McCree sighed. “When we gathered all of the intel, we found that it wasn’t simply an agent or a patron of the club that was selling the drug—it was intentional on the part of the owner. She had mixed it into certain drinks so that anyone who ordered that particular drink would receive a dose of the drug.”

They fell silent again and McCree let Silver process that.

“Eventually we had to act,” McCree said reluctantly. “During the off-hours we struck. Copper of course fought back. We had no orders to take her in alive—it would have been for the best, to get more information—but she had challenged Hanzo to single combat whether she realized it or not. He bested her and she did not survive.”

Silver toyed with a purple tomato, a breed that as a young colt he had begged McCree to buy at the local farmer’s market. For a month all he wanted to talk about or eat were the purple tomatoes. He had grown up since but McCree had kept the plants—and Silver’s affection for them hadn’t waned, though now he could be convinced to eat other foods as well.

Not for the first time, McCree wondered at this strange ordeal of parenthood. Silver was nearly an adult—a teenager by the reckoning of centaurs—and had he been a part of Windteeth’s herd he would have been about to be kicked out by the herdmaster. But whenever he looked at Silver, all he could see was the leggy, fluffy little runt of a foal he had adopted.

He could see the mornings where he had woken up to find that Silver and SJ had climbed in bed with him and Hanzo, or of the times he’d watch Silver run around with his stray pup of a little brother. He remembers Silver’s first words that he said out loud to them (predictably, it was a curse word) and the many,  _ many _ times he swore in ASL.

McCree could remember the times he got sick, the times he’d come running with a boo-boo to kiss better. (And  _ that _ had been a funny sight to see but McCree had treated it with the sobriety that the situation required—he had laughed with Hanzo about it later, when Silver wasn’t in earshot.) He could remember holding Silver’s hand during vaccinations, during the first time that Brigitte treated his hooves.

Now he was nearly an adult by centaur reckoning, even if he had been with McCree and Hanzo for a bare handful of years.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Silver asked softly. He took a bite of the purple tomato in his hands and McCree smiled slightly. Some things never changed.

His smile faded. “Honestly? I think we had forgotten.” He shook his head ruefully. “At first we were focusing on making sure you were well taken care of. We knew that you had the awareness to understand what had happened, but we didn’t know if you had the emotional…” he struggled for words. “In short, we didn’t want to traumatize you too much. We had planned to very slowly give you the information and dropped the ball somewhere along the line.”

Silver’s face was carefully blank as he continued to eat his tomato. One ear was forward, trained on McCree; the other was back, thinking.

“Did…” he hesitated. “Did you adopt me  _ because _ you…”

Not seeing the point in lying, McCree said, “Because we killed your mother? Yeah.” He let Silver process that tidbit for a few seconds before explaining, “As mission lead, I needed to do a follow-up with the local law enforcement, tie up a few loose ends. You turned out to be one of them and they were concerned that they wouldn’t be able to find someone to adopt you.”

“I would imagine that centaur orphans don’t tend to have many people that want them,” Silver said, sounding bitter. His ears ticked back but his body language remained neutral, his weight still evenly on a of his hooves; his tail swished as he thought. “I need to think about this.”

“Of course,” McCree assured him. “I know that this is an unpleasant surprise.” Silver snorted. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that we’ve kept it from you for so long.”

Silver tossed his head. “I understand why you would,” he said, clearly reluctant to admit that much. “I don’t like it, but I still understand it.” He handed McCree the produce basket and turned to leave.

“Burgers for dinner, it looks like,” McCree called as he left. “The usual time. If I don’t see you, I’ll save you a few.”

At the door, Silver paused. He looked back at McCree with an unreadable look before nodding and continuing out the door. McCree couldn’t hear him cantering away but didn’t expect to—he ran out toward the grasslands with their modest herd of cattle where the dirt and grass would muffle the sound of his hooves.

* * *

When it was time for dinner, McCree signaled to SJ who threw his head back and howled. Hanzo and Baptiste returned at a canter, coming from the direction of one of the nearby creeks.

Hanzo jumped the fence while Baptiste yelled in alarm, clearly not used to such feats. He nearly toppled from Hanzo’s back—would have if Hanzo hadn’t thrown a hand back to nudge him back in place.

Smiling, McCree held out his hands and Hanzo leaned down, pressing his forehead to McCree’s in a centaur greeting. Then he caught McCree’s lips in a kiss, wrapping his arms around his mate’s waist. “Have a good time?” he asked.

Looking down, McCree found that Hanzo’s legs were covered in dried mud. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

“I was going to help him wash up,” Baptiste complained, swinging his leg over Hanzo’s back and sliding down. “But after that little trick, I might not.”

Hanzo chuffed and straightened. “I got it,” McCree assured Baptiste. “Dinner’s out on the table. Why don’t you go and make sure the coyotes don’t make a mess?”

Making a face, Baptiste walked inside. Despite his instinctive nervousness around other shifters, Baptiste seemed to like the twins—the feeling was mutual, one of the reasons that Baptiste seemed to visit so often.

Shaking his head, McCree walked with Hanzo to the outdoor shower and turned on the hose to spray down Hanzo’s legs. “I spoke to Silver today,” McCree said casually and Hanzo’s ears twisted back. “I don’t think he’s mad,” he added quickly. “I think he’s just confused. I don’t think he knows quite what to think.”

Hanzo shook his head. “We should have told him immediately.”

“Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve,” McCree pointed out. “But I told him what happened.”

“There’s no point in hiding it now,” Hanzo said sourly as McCree rubbed the mud out of his legs. “Did he leave?”

McCree hummed in agreement. “He went toward the cattle paddocks. I don’t know if he’ll be back for dinner, but I promised to save him something.” For a long while their silence was punctuated with the slap of water droplets on the concrete.

“Do you think he’ll leave?” Hanzo asked, voice soft, as McCree used a hand towel to dry his legs and hooves.

McCree chuckled. “I don’t think he’ll go and join the herd, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said. “But I can’t say if he’ll go somewhere else. It’s hard to tell with that kid.”

“I doubt he would join the herd,” Hanzo said distractedly. “I doubt they’d let a stallion that old…” his ears drooped. “Do you think we did the right thing?” he asked in a small voice.

“I think we did the best we could,” McCree said firmly. “Anything more is no longer in our hands.”

Hanzo whickered in agreement and leaned down for another kiss.

* * *

Dinner was quiet.

The twins didn’t know what to make of Silver’s absence, but Baptiste kept them distracted enough not to ask too much.

That didn’t stop them all from perking up, SJ especially, when they heard the front door open. Silver hesitantly walked in, eyeing them all as if to judge his welcome.

Hanzo’s long tail flicked. “Just in time,” he said as if nothing had happened between them. “I was going to eat your tomatoes.”

Mouth full of burger, McCree watched Silver hesitate before walking down the ramp to his and Hanzo’s side of the dinner table. Silver hesitated again, as if afraid that Hanzo would chase him away. When Hanzo didn’t move, he approached with his ears held submissively low. 

“Tou-san,” he said softly and Hanzo turned, taking two big steps towards him. Silver flinched back, clearly expecting something more violent than the brush of Hanzo’s nose against his forehead. He tipped his head back and they brushed noses, resting their foreheads against each other as they breathed each other’s air. 

Hanzo wrapped his arms around Silver’s upper shoulders and their oldest son moved to press his face against Hanzo’s neck, just like he used to do when he was a foal. 

If anyone noticed that Hanzo and McCree had teared up, nobody said anything. But Baptiste gave them a brilliant smile and SJ nudged a big paw against Silver’s side as if to say,  _ see? Everything worked out _ . 

As if nothing had happened, Silver assembled a burger and found that McCree had sliced purple tomatoes for him.  _ I-L-Y dad _ , he signed.  _ I-L-Y father _ . 

_ We love you too _ , Hanzo signed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes:  
> -Silver doesn’t call Hanzo any form of “father” very often. In centaur culture, there is not much of a familial tie to one’s sire and more connection to their mother. He will call McCree “father” or “dad” or some version, but he usually just refers to Hanzo by his name.  
> -Centaur greetings are along the lines of honi or hongi: press of foreheads, the sharing of breath.  
> -Wild centaur herds exist but it’s rare to find them. Centaur herds and family groups are more often found in rural areas and are much more “socialized” with humans and other shifters. Windteeth’s herd is not used to outside contact but have learned to appreciate what Hanzo and McCree’s homestead has to offer, so they often visit to trade  
> -Baptiste loves the twins and the twins love Baptiste. It’s strange to see a British Alpine goat playing with two coyotes but anything goes on this farm, it seems  
> -They all eat dinner at the same table. The humans and shifters (who eat in their human form) sit at the human-style dinner table, which has a short ramp built into the floor and an area for Hanzo and Silver to stand that had been dug down lower than the rest of the floor in the house. This lets the centaurs stand comfortably and be at the same level of the table as the rest of the group so that they enjoy dinner together.  
> -At this point in time, Silver is ~3-4 years-old. Centaurs grow to maturity quickly but still have a similar lifespan to humans. 
> 
> \----
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it--this was a lot of fun to write.
> 
> Feel free to come and yell at me on twitter at [dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). 
> 
> ~DC


	8. Serial Siblings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rambling piece based on a joke with [IchigoWhiskey](https://twitter.com/ichigowhiskey) that all of Hanzo and McCree's kids adopt each other more than they actually adopt the kids. It goes in a chain: they adopt Silver, Silver adopts SJ and so on. 
> 
> Then, of course, it got out of hand. This only covers the adoption of kids #2-6. 
> 
> Title from IchigoWhiskey (of course) and here are some honorable mentions:  
> Coming Home  
> Home Not Alone  
> Honey, the Kids Adopted Another Kid  
> Homestead

In truth, it started with Silver and SJ.

A few months after adopting Silver, McCree had taken him into town and had returned to the base with an enormous ball of fluff that turned out to be a puppy. According to McCree, Silver had wandered off at some point and returned with him, struggling to carry the enormous puppy on his spindly foal legs.

He had begged McCree to keep him, had signed _please, please, please_ until McCree had acquiesced. The foal deserved nice things.

Shortly after they retired and moved to a remote homestead in the States. The sprawling property allowed Hanzo and Silver more than enough space to stretch their legs and SJ was thrilled by the idea of being able to run and run and run.

He never wandered away, though. He always stuck by their sides or within sight and would come when called.

They settled in to retired life. Hanzo taught Silver whatever he felt was necessary to be a centaur while McCree puttered around the homestead.

Bored out of their minds, they started a YouTube channel. “We tried plowing but I think we just suck” was one of their more popular hits, where McCree hitched Hanzo to an old plow he had found in the dilapidated barn on their property. People seemed to like their vlogs about centaur life and what it was like with a lycanthrope and a centaur and raising their adopted foal with their dog.

Their next children were adopted by SJ. It started with, of all things, a doggie door.

By then SJ had grown to enormous size. He was large enough that most children would call him a “pony”—and was nearly the same height as Silver, a remarkable feat for a dog. SJ still had a thick coat of fur which they kept carefully trimmed to keep him from overheating.

They installed a doggie door for him, though McCree joked that they may as well just teach him how to open the fuckin door, he was so large. But their followers had said that they wanted to see SJ, with his enormous clouds of fur, get caught in a doggie door—and McCree obeyed the request just for the hell of it.

In the planned video, where SJ would come wiggling through the door—carefully made large enough for him to get through without much difficulty despite his size—he was joined by two other shapes.

Coyotes.

For a long moment they all stared at each other and then SJ plopped himself down on top of the coyotes as if to say _they’re mine now_. Silver laughed and pranced in place and McCree peeked at Hanzo to find that he held his face in his hands.

“Guess…uh…we have some guests, huh?” McCree asked. “Burgers tonight.” His suspicions that the coyotes were not _just_ coyotes was confirmed when he saw their ears prick forward at “burgers”. “With bacon and mac and cheese.”

Silver liked that weird mess, liked McCree’s mac and cheese on his burger. Of all things for him to be particular about, his pretty purple tomatoes and mac and cheese were not things that McCree had ever expected.

The two coyotes looked at each other and then one changed into a human form. “Burger?” he asked.

McCree looked him over. He looked to be only around seven or so in his human form, but with shifters it was sometimes hard to tell. The shifter was dirty from head to toe, sand and red dirt ground into his skin so that it was hard to tell what he really looked like.

“Bath first,” he decided. “We need to clean you up a bit first or all you’ll taste is dirt and sand in your burgers. Come on. Hanzo?”

“I’ll keep an eye on dinner,” Hanzo promised, knowing that McCree’s experience with lycanthropes and canine shifters would be more valuable than a centaur in a bathtub.

_Don’t burn,_ Silver chided, following Hanzo into the kitchen. Hanzo snorted, making both coyotes jump.

The human-shaped one squinted at McCree. “Burger?” he asked again.

Then McCree realized that he didn’t speak much English. He sighed. In the end pantomime won out—SJ accompanied them to the bathroom but refused to enter, knowing that Bath Time was happening.

Both coyotes seemed amazed at the idea of a tub full of clear water and stared for a long time, unsure of what to do with it. When McCree patted the water and mimed splashing, they seemed to understand and clambered in excitedly.

McCree pointed at himself. “Jesse,” he said, deciding that “McCree” might be too difficult if the coyote shifter was only mimicking. He pointed at the human-shaped shifter.

The name he was given was a series of noises that the human vocal cords (or at least the vocal cords of a human that grew up in human society) couldn’t hope to pronounce, confirming his suspicions that the coyotes were most likely wild-born.

Instead, he picked up a double-handful of water. “Water,” he said, making eye contact with the human-shaped coyote. The other was watching intently as well. He splashed them with the water and they gave high yips of laughter. When he had their attention again, he gestured to the bathtub and the water that they sat in. “Bath.”

He reached for the body wash and gestured for the human-shaped coyote to give him his hand. The shifter did so reluctantly and giggled when McCree rubbed it with soap. He seemed fascinated by the bubbles and played with them until he dropped his arm back in the water.

McCree gave him a moment to process his clean arm and watched as he inspected it carefully. Then he looked up at McCree and said very clearly, “Bath.”

Maybe not wild-born, but certainly nearly-feral, McCree amended to himself.

The human-shaped coyote turned to the other and said something in that strange language of yips and growls and suddenly there were two human-shaped coyote shifters in the bathtub. “Bath,” the other one said clearly and laughed. He was missing a tooth.

McCree handed them the soap and watched them just long enough to make sure that they could clean themselves before he walked to the door to give them some privacy.

He found Hanzo in the hallway, leaning his upper torso against the wall. His ears were pricked toward the bathroom. “Silver kicked me out of the kitchen,” he explained, though McCree hadn’t asked. “He’s afraid that I’ll burn everything.”

Unable to help himself, McCree laughed. The mac and cheese recipe that Silver was so enamored with was originally Hanzo’s.

“How are they?” Hanzo asked, nodding at the bathroom.

“I thought they were wild-born at first, but maybe they’re just feral,” McCree said with a shrug. “They seem to remember some things, like ‘bath’. Maybe that’s how they know ‘burger’. I’m not sure. The names they gave me definitely weren’t English, though, or any language I recognize.”

“Could they be from a local pack?” Hanzo wondered.

McCree shrugged. “I hope so. They seem pretty young, but with shifters that can be misleading.” He sighed. “If they want to stay the night, we can keep them with SJ in one of the rooms—they seem to like him well enough. Whenever they leave, I’ll go with them to make sure they’re alright.”

“If,” Hanzo said with a laugh. “ _If_ they want to leave.”

Just then, Silver came galloping in. _Help, help, help_. Hanzo laughed again and followed the foal back to the kitchen.

When McCree checked in on the coyote again, he found that one of them had drained the tub and had filled it with clean water again. There were streaks of mud and sand staining the sides, but both shifters seemed much cleaner.

The more talkative one smiled when he saw McCree. “Bath,” he said and began washing again. He paused and pointed at McCree. “Jesse.”

McCree gave him a thumbs-up and ducked back out until he heard them both call for him again. He helped them wash the rest of the dirt from their hair but it was so matted that it would probably have to be cut off. When McCree explained this to them, speaking slowly and demonstrating with a pair of clippers, they both seemed eager to get rid of the mat on their heads.

They chattered excitedly at each other as McCree cut their hair and laughed when they were done, running their hands over the jagged remains. Just for laughs, McCree showed them the electric clipper and after being startled by the noise, both were intrigued enough to let him use it on their heads to even out the rough clips.

The coyote shifters fell silent at the knock on the door and McCree turned to find Silver in the doorway, a bundle of clothes in his hands. _My shirts_ , he signed to McCree when he took the bundle. _Pants_.

For a moment, McCree was confused where the pants came from—he was the only one in the household that wore them, after all—before remembering how often someone sent them clothing sets for Silver that were intended for human, rather than centaur, children.

“Good thing we saved those,” McCree laughed and Silver giggled before trotting away.

The coyotes seemed to remember clothes and pulled them on quickly. They seemed shy all of a sudden, standing in front of McCree and huddling close. “Burgers?” McCree suggested and their expressions brightened. “Come on. Dinner’s almost ready.”

After dinner, the coyote shifters transformed again and curled up with SJ. The next morning, they were present for breakfast and went out to play with Silver and SJ. They came back for lunch, went out again, and came back for dinner.

Eventually they had to conclude that they had been adopted. They bought clothes for the coyotes so they would stop wearing Silver’s (which didn’t fit them very well, anyway) and set up a space for them. Fortunately, the homestead was large enough that they had a surplus of extra rooms and it was only a matter of finding them a space that they both liked.

They called McCree “Jesse” and Hanzo “Zo” and Silver “Silly”. If they had a name for SJ, they didn’t say it where McCree could hear or understand them.

When Baptiste visited, they swarmed him which probably scared the shit out of the poor medic but once he realized that they were just playful pups that had decided they liked him, he took it all in stride. They called him “Baa” which had Hanzo snickering for the entire time that Baptiste was visiting them.

McCree made a vlog about adopting two coyotes and included a truly adorable video of Baptiste in his other form grazing while the coyotes jumped over and bounded around him and jumped on his back and nibbled at his ears and tail.

Soon they settled into life at the homestead. They spent most of their time in their coyote forms but occasionally turned human to go on rides on Hanzo’s back or to help McCree in the garden. One was rarely without the other so one day, a few months after adopting them, when one of them appeared in the kitchen without the other, McCree was confused.

When he very simply said, “Help, please,” McCree was alarmed. He turned off the stove, wiped his hands off, and transformed to follow the coyote into the fields.

There he found the other coyote, SJ, and _a fucking eagle_.

Seeing him, the eagle hissed, mantling its wings to make itself look bigger. McCree changed back to look closer at the eagle, frowning. It wasn’t an eagle that he was familiar with, covered in feathers in a dozen shades of brown, and it was _enormous_ —its wingspan had to be at least as tall as he was.

It was sitting strangely as if hurt, and McCree sighed. Fortunately, Hanzo had gone into town earlier to meet up Baptiste for another visit—hopefully the medic could help the eagle. The next issue, of course, was getting the eagle to the homestead.

Instructing SJ and the coyotes to stand guard with the eagle, McCree transformed and ran back to the homestead to find something to use to bring it back. By chance, he found a large box that he reinforced with an entire roll of duct tape and rigged into a net so that he could hold it in his jaws. He would have to be very careful when he walked back, but it was better to walk on four legs than two.

And it was better than trying to carry the bird as a human—he didn’t want to lose his other arm to those two-inch-long talons.

He filled the box with towels and a few medical supplies, just in case it was something he could assist with. After a moment of hesitation, he wrapped up some meat and put it in the box as well.

As he was getting ready to leave, Hanzo and Baptiste returned and he was obliged to explain just what he was doing. After quickly unloading Hanzo, Baptiste climbed back on his friend’s back and they all loped into the fields to take a look at their new guest.

“That’s a golden,” Hanzo said immediately, ears pricked forward in surprise. “What’s it doing here?”

McCree made a curious noise as Baptiste approached the eagle with care.

“Golden eagles are more often seen in Mongolia,” Hanzo explained. “I had the great fortune to meet some of those eagle hunters. It’s an incredible skill for them to master and is very traditional.”

“I didn’t know you went to Mongolia,” Baptiste murmured, echoing McCree’s thoughts.

“A long time ago,” Hanzo said vaguely. “I traveled with a family for a while. They knew a few eagle hunters who were more than happy to show me how they worked. One of their tests of skill is catching their eagle while running on horseback.”

Ah.

“Their wingspan can be almost 2.5 meters,” Hanzo continued. “But what is a golden eagle doing in the US?”

“I believe that golden eagles aren’t _only_ found in Asia,” Baptiste said dryly. “I’m pretty sure I’ve heard about conservation efforts in the States.” Hanzo shrugged. “In any case, it seems that this one is just a bit banged up. Nothing a careful amount of biotics and some bandages won’t cure.”

With the eagle carefully distracted by some of the ground meat that McCree had brought, they were able to coax the eagle into waddling into the box which they very gently tipped until the eagle was in the bottom and McCree was able to pick it up by the hanging rope to carry back.

The coyote seemed disappointed that their new friend would leave in a few days, but their disappointment didn’t linger. Privately, Hanzo joked to McCree that he was glad that the eagle was leaving and that it was an eagle, not a shifter—it seemed to be a trend among them, that their most recently-adopted children would adopt someone else.

An eagle—truly an eagle and not a shifter—could hardly adopt someone, right?

A few days later, someone knocked on their door while McCree was in the garden, so he didn’t hear her at first. It wasn’t until he heard SJ barking that McCree realized that there was anyone nearby so he stood with a groan and walked to the front of the house.

It was a girl, looking like she was in her late teens, dressed in worn clothes. McCree almost completely overlooked her until he saw a heavy leather glove tucked into the side of her pack.

The kind that you see with falconers or, McCree would suspect, eagle hunters.

McCree looked at her with much more scrutiny. She was thin, not quite malnourished but as if she didn’t eat very well very often.

As if she was living off the land. As if she was on the run from something.

That would support the gear on her back, why she had an eagle. Guns and ammo cost money and would fail if she didn’t know how to care for one; bows and arrows were the same and were difficult to knap and fletch so that they would fly straight. An eagle though…if she managed to tame an eagle, all she’d need to do is keep it alive and healthy. The eagle would help her with kills—and she, in turn, would help the eagle succeed in its hunts.

“I don’t suppose you got a golden eagle, do you?” he asked and laughed at her guilty expression. “Was it missing for a few days?”

“I don’t have an eagle,” she said, clearly lying. “I’m just…looking for a place to stay tonight.”

McCree chuckled. “You’re shit at lying,” he told her, not unkindly. “We’re having tacos tonight. Do you have dietary restrictions?” he suspected not, because when in the wilds, you couldn’t be picky. The girl shook her head. “Come on. We’re about to have lunch. Just sandwiches, nothing fancy. Would you like to clean up a bit?”

The girl looked wistful. “Could I maybe use your shower?” she asked shyly. “And maybe your washing machine?”

McCree waved for her to follow him. “Laundry room’s on the right. Help yourself to the detergent and fabric softeners. I’ll see if I have any extra clothes that you can wear while your stuff is washing. The bathroom is off on this side. Again, help yourself to whatever you need. Let me grab you a towel.”

She watched him with wide eyes as he bustled around, finding her one of Silver’s tees—McCree found it hilarious that every time they find a new person, they used Silver’s clothes. They scratched their heads about what to do about underclothes and pants before McCree remembered that Baptiste and Hanzo were in town with Silver.

They returned with clothes while the girl was in the shower and McCree knocked to tell her that the clothes they got were outside the door, and went to make lunch.

“We better not be adopting another child,” Hanzo told McCree in an undertone while Baptiste played with the coyote twins outside. Laughing, McCree patted his shoulder and made an empty promise to do no such thing, and began getting things to make lunch.

The girl was clearly surprised to find a centaur in the kitchen and she froze in the doorway, her eyes wide as she openly stared at Hanzo.

Hanzo turned to look back at her, his ears pricked forward assertively. “Are your hands clean?” he asked.

“Yes…sir?” she asked hesitantly, looking down at Hanzo’s hooves and then back at his face.

“Clothes in the wash?” Hanzo pressed. Gulping, the girl nodded wordlessly. “Good. You can help get lunch ready.”

When the girl looked at McCree with wide eyes, he laughed. “Don’t worry, Hanzo’s just crabby because he’s hungry. Don’t suppose you know your way around a kitchen?”

“Only the basics,” the girl said meekly and Hanzo snorted, offering her a knife hilt-first. “Oh. That’s a big knife.”

“I’ll show you,” Hanzo said gruffly. “But I can’t do that when you’re across the kitchen from me.”

The girl eyed the tall counters with a fair amount of trepidation. Like the dining area, the kitchen area was also split up with areas of high counters that were more comfortable for Hanzo and low counters that were more comfortable for McCree. The range was human-height; the hearth was raised for Hanzo.

Compromise.

McCree found her a stool and she came to stand hesitantly next to Hanzo who handed her the knife and an onion. “Han, I got some leftover mac. Shall I bring it out?”

“We may as well use it,” Hanzo said distractedly. “No, you’ll cut yourself like that. Here, like this.”

Laughing to himself, McCree dug around in the refrigerator for the leftovers and deli meats. He opened the kitchen window and poked his head out, finding Baptiste playing with the coyotes. “Hey Baptiste, mind getting some veggies for sandwiches?”

Shooting him a thumbs-up, Baptiste whistled for the coyotes and accepted the basket that McCree handed him through the window.

When it was time for lunch the girl seemed taken aback at their strange family. SJ, who sat on a low stool so he could see over the table and Silver who sat next to him, still a little too short to stand beside Hanzo but too tall to easily be at the table with them. The coyote twins, wearing only a pair of boxers, watching her with wild golden eyes and Baptiste who kept them in line only because they insisted on sitting on either side of him.

“What’s your name?” Silver asked, surprising everyone.

The girl ducked her head shyly. “I don’t know if I should tell you?”

“Are you a murderer?” Silver asked bluntly and Hanzo hissed at him. He ducked his head contritely, his ears folding submissively. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m not a murderer,” the girl hurried to say. “I’m just…people are looking for me.”

McCree eyed her and she ducked her head under his stare. “Family? Or worse?”

The girl shook her head. Hanzo snorted and made a bowl of mac and cheese which he shoved at her. “Eat,” he told her. “We will hardly turn you in. And eat some of those vegetables, too—the pickle goes well with the mac and cheese, I’ve found.”

“No, it doesn’t,” McCree groaned, pretending to gag. “Pickles and mac? That’s just wrong.”

“Yuck,” one of the coyote twins said.

“Sandwich,” the other twin, the more talkative one, said. Baptiste handed him a slice of bread and spooned him a bowl of mac and cheese as well, which he immediately dumped between slices of bread and ate with gusto.

Hanzo snorted. “Heathens,” he said with open affection in his voice. To the girl, he said, “Eat. You’re too thin. When was the last time you had a meal? I hope you’re staying for dinner, at least.”

“She asked to stay the night,” McCree said as the girl obediently took a big bite of the mac and cheese. “Told her it was taco night.”

“Tacos?” the twins asked in unison, their faces lighting up.

Silver tapped his knuckles on the table. _Can I make the tortillas?_

“Salsas?” the talkative twin asked.

The other waved his hands in the air excitedly. “Cheese!”

“We should let our guest choose first,” Hanzo scolded and all eyes turned to the girl.

“Taco night for them is a bit of a production,” Baptiste explained dryly. “They spend a lot of time working on it. What do you want to work on? I think Hanzo will probably go hunting?” Hanzo nodded. “Then he and I work on dressing and cooking the meat. McCree stays here and works on the rest.”

McCree chuckled. “We make tortillas, salsa, cut of the toppings, make cheese to put on top. We also have the store-bought stuff as well— _someone_ likes pepperjack on their tacos.” The coyote twin that he was talking about giggled.

The girl hesitated. “Can I…join you hunting?” she asked hesitantly. “Or is…?”

Hanzo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Can you ride?” he asked.

She looked comically taken aback. “Ride…what?”

“You won’t keep up with me on foot,” Hanzo pointed out with a laugh. “Can you ride? If not, I suppose we can set you up with Baptiste to ride the ATV.”

For a moment the girl looked horrified. “Is that not…demeaning?”

Hanzo shrugged. “I don’t mind. As I said, you can ride on me or you can ride the ATV with Baptiste, but then you’d have to go on foot or the engines will scare away all the good game.”

“What are we hunting?” the girl asked.

“Elk. There’s a heard nearby.”

The girl’s face fell. “Oh. That’s bigger than I usually hunt.”

“There will be plenty of small game between here and where the herd is,” Hanzo assured her. “And I’m sure SJ would appreciate a snack, as will your eagle. Don’t worry, you have time to decide.”

In the end she voted to hunt with Hanzo and Baptiste anyway, and opted to climb in Hanzo’s saddle. McCree adjusted the stirrups for her and showed her where to hold on. “If it gets too bumpy, just let him know,” he reminded her kindly. “You can always switch to riding with Baptiste.” The medic saluted her with two fingers from where he sat astride the ATV. The wide trailer on the back would allow them to bring their large kill in without making Hanzo carry it.

“Good hunting!” McCree called, waving as they galloped away. High in the sky, he could see the tiny speck that was the girl’s eagle and shook his head.

The coyote twins were watching him with identical expressions. “Come on,” he told them. “Let’s get a guest room set up and then we can start on the cheese and salsa.” They clapped excitedly and hurried down the hall.

He found a large basket whose handle could possibly serve as a perch for the eagle and placed it on the nightstand beside the bed. The window might be large enough for the bird to rest, but certainly not large enough for it to fly in, but that was fine. He thought that the room must have been an old mud room or some such because they was a door to the outside which the girl could use to bring her eagle in.

Finding a door sign in the supply closet, he wrote “GUEST” and hung it on the door. He erased the “GUEST” on Baptiste’s room and wrote the medic’s name instead, to keep them from getting confused. Then he erased “BAPTISTE” and wrote “BAAPTISTE” and hid the pen.

The coyotes, back in their preferred forms, ran around his legs as McCree carried firewood from the shed to the open area where Hanzo and Baptiste were going to work on the roast. He and Hanzo had talked about building a large hearth there and were beginning to gather their supplies for such a build.

They were still arguing about the style, though. McCree joked that they had enough land and money between the two of them…they _could_ just build a dozen hearths in a dozen different styles.

For now, they made do with cooking over an open fire with metal grates to serve as a grill. It worked well enough so they weren’t in much of a rush.

He and the coyotes were just finishing the cheese when the hunters came back triumphantly. The girl held the eagle on her extended arm and in her other hand held a string of rabbits that were probably caught with her eagle.

McCree grinned and ushered the coyotes outside to greet the group, not trusting them alone in the kitchen, and leaned up to give Hanzo a welcome back kiss. He turned to the girl who was staring at them with wide eyes. “I see you had a successful hunt. Was it different on Hanzo’s back?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed, handing McCree the string of hares before she carefully dismounted. The eagle flared its wings, his head covered and the leather straps on its legs held carefully in the girl’s hands. “It was so much fun! I didn’t know that Frightful could do that!”

Surprised, McCree blinked at her. “Frightful?” he teased. “So, should I be calling you Sam?”

Hanzo snorted when the girl looked confused. “It’s an _ancient_ book,” he explained, rolling his eyes fondly. “He decided that it was essential reading when we moved out here. _My Side of the Mountain_. It’s about a young boy that decides to live in the woods. He catches some kind of falcon I think and names it Frightful.”

“Oh,” the girl said softly. “I don’t mind being called Sam.”

Shaking his head, Hanzo moved to help Baptiste with the elk they had brought down. They began work on preparing the meat to be marinated and cooked.

“We don’t need to call you Sam,” McCree pointed out. “I was just making a joke. Come on, let me show you where you’ll be staying. I don’t know what you want to do with your Frightful there, but I managed to find something that might make a good perch. Let me know what you think.”

The girl seemed surprised to be offered a room all on her own and immediately put the eagle on the provided perch. “She’ll go to sleep soon,” the girl explained. “I’ll let her fly around a bit before then but…this is just so much.”

“Did you think we’d put you on the couch? In the barn?” McCree asked with a laugh. “Nah. We had an extra room, so may as well use it. Is this good for you and your Frightful?”

The girl hugged herself. “More than,” she whispered.

He patted her shoulder. “When you’re ready, come on out. You can help in the kitchen or with Hanzo and Baptiste—or you can just stay here, if you want. No rush.”

It took her awhile to come back out—McCree suspected that she needed to get a hold of herself and that she had gone to check on her clothes in the wash. She ended up in the kitchen with McCree and Silver, carefully portioning out and pressing tortillas.

By the end of the night she had loosened up just a little, enough to tell them stories of her time on the road. She had left at the age of eighteen (a lie that nobody would call her on) and had been wandering around the forests for a few months. Only recently had she gotten Frightful, the last chick of a nest that had been destroyed in a storm. From there they had been inseparable ever since…

…at least until the storm a few days ago.

She had been terrified that Frightful was gone for good, struck from the sky by wind or lightning; or worse, injured and unable to fly or call for her. When Frightful had returned, she had been elated.

And then she had found the homestead.

“You’re too thin,” Hanzo scolded and the coyote twins laughed. “Eat more vegetables. Don’t just put meat and cheese in a tortilla, eat more.”

McCree smiled and patted Hanzo’s lower shoulder affectionately. “Let her be, Mama Bird,” he teased and his mate snorted at the silly name. “There’s more opportunity to feed her up. You’ll be here for breakfast at least, right?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” the girl said shyly. “And then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Hanzo snorted but let McCree answer. “Not at all. Stay as long as you want or need to.”

Somehow that came true. One of them always put off the girl’s leaving. The next run into town they bought her new clothes and shoes. One day, McCree found that she had erased “GUEST” on the board on her door and wrote “SAM & FRIGHTFUL”.

She babysat the coyote twins with Baptiste until he left and then kept an eye on them when he had gone. They often went hunting together, the coyotes chasing up game for Frightful to hunt down.

Two weeks in, she asked officially to be called Sam, after the character in the book.

Three months in, trouble came knocking, as it tended to do. A car drove up the long path, unusual since they rarely had visitors and Hanzo didn’t drive. He had taken Silver out into the nearby fields to do whatever it was that they did out there. 

McCree was in the garden with Sam and SJ, the coyote twins playing in the grass nearby, when a group of thugs walked around the side. Sam saw them first and McCree looked up when he heard her say “oh no”. SJ immediately moved to stand between her and the thugs, his long fur standing on end.

“Howdy,” McCree said, groaning as he stood. “What can I do for you? You’re a bit far from the beaten path.”

One of the thugs grabbed him and shoved him into a wall. “Stay out of this.”

“Mind your own business,” another said.

“I feel like it’s my business to know why a bunch of strangers are on my property,” McCree said tightly. “Sam, SJ, why don’t y’all go inside.”

“I don’t think so,” one of the other thugs said and took a bold step toward the pair. SJ lunged in and closed his jaws on the man’s hand. Swearing, the thug struck ineffectively at SJ’s head. Growling, SJ shook his head like a terrier, throwing the man off balance and on his back.

McCree rolled his shoulders. “Try again,” he said, his voice colder. “SJ, Sam. Inside.”

A thug pulled out a gun; he screamed a second later when an arrow appeared to sprout from his arm and dropped the gun.

“Wanna be rethinking that statement?” McCree asked. “’Cause I can throw down if you like.”

The coyote twins came flying out of the grass and leaped at the man in the back, the smaller one hanging from the man’s arm; the other managed to leap higher and just missed closing his jaws on the man’s face.

Not expecting this kind of response, the thugs were terrified, ran into each other as they tried to back away. McCree risked a glance toward his other two kids. Sam had froze, still kneeling on the ground; SJ stood protectively over her, his snout bloody as he growled silently.

“Friends?” he asked her. “Or enemies?”

Sam clung to SJ’s shoulders, burying her face in his fur. Answer enough.

When he turned back around, Hanzo had joined him. “Amateurs,” he grumbled. “Silver’s got our back,” he added.

“Teaching him the art of the bow?” McCree teased. “Another Sagittarius among us?” Hanzo snorted.

Back to business. The thugs seemed cowed and the twins had left off their attack, were back in the grass but no doubt ready to charge again. Clever things.  

McCree propped his fists on his hips. “Now. You folks ready to start telling me why you decide to threaten my family?”

“You _shot_ my _hands_ ,” the one that Hanzo shot cried.

“You’ll live,” Hanzo told him coolly. “You may not be so lucky if you decide not to tell us why you’re here.”

The thug that hadn’t been bitten or shot jabbed a finger at Sam. “She is ours.”

“Last I heard, slavery was illegal,” Hanzo said mildly, and McCree let him talk. Frost seemed to be dripping from his lips and his ears were pricked forward in challenge—even someone not familiar with centaur body language, as these thugs clearly weren’t, were cowed by it. “So why do you think that our daughter is in any way associated with you?”

The one attacked by the twins, minor injuries in comparison to the damage done by SJ or Hanzo, looked unsure. “We were sent…” he trailed off. “She’s got a bounty. Wanted alive.”

“Our daughter?” McCree asked, his voice hard despite his words. “I doubt she’d ever do anything wrong enough to warrant a bounty. Don’t you think, fellas?” he began unbuttoning his shirt because damn it he liked that flannel, it was new. He draped it over Hanzo’s back, along with his belt; his jeans were worn so if he transformed in them and they tore, it was no skin off his nose.

Very slowly he began to transform, growing in size. He grew claws and fangs which he bared in a terrifying grin. “I think it’s high time you leave, don’t you?”

The men left. They needed very little encouragement to do so, after another growl from McCree.

“I should go into town as well,” Hanzo said reluctantly. “Make a formal report.” His tail twitched and he stamped in annoyance. “I’ll take Silver with me,” he decided and nodded at McCree. “Will you be alright?”

McCree nodded and changed back, tugging off the ragged remains of his undershirt. “We’ll manage just fine, don’t you worry about us. Might take a trip out into the pastures just in case.” He whistled and the coyote twins bounded out. “We’re leaving for a day or two. Pack anything you might need.”

Leaning down, Hanzo kissed McCree before calling to Silver, wherever the colt was. Then he walked to SJ, pat his head, and rested a hand on Sam’s head. Seemingly satisfied, Hanzo turned and galloped away.

“Come on,” McCree told Sam in a soft voice. “We need to pack. I doubt there’ll be any issue, but let’s not risk it.” It took some coaxing to get her to her feet and moving, but she did eventually, sniffling.

“Why?” she asked in a soft voice. “You’re only going to cause more trouble for yourselves.”

McCree put a hand on her cheek. “The day we can’t handle a bunch of thugs like that is the day that we’re in the ground,” he told her with a dark laugh. “Sides. You’re hardly the person they’re looking for.”

“But I am,” Sam said quietly.

McCree feigned surprise. “Our daughter? Our little Sam? I doubt that.” SJ lay down with a satisfied grumble. He barely resisted reacting when something small threw itself at his back, wrapping small arms around his waist.

It was just Sam. “Thank you,” she said into his shoulder blades.

“Go pack,” he told her kindly. “We got a bit of a hike to do for our impromptu camping trip.”

* * *

Hanzo and Silver made it to their camp shortly before sunset and found that Frightful had brought down a few rabbits, which had been made into a hearty stew in the camping cauldron that McCree had brought along. They brought bags of marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate from town and Sam helped McCree to whittle down sticks for skewers.

“ _They were arrested,_ ” Hanzo told McCree in quiet Japanese when the kids had fallen asleep. Silver was curled up with his upper torso in the tent and his long legs splayed; the rest of his siblings were in the tent, curled up in an enormous pile of fur. It was just as well since the nights were getting colder with the approach of fall.

“ _Just arrested?_ ” McCree asked, trying not to sound disappointed.

Hanzo’s teeth flashed in the light of the fire. “ _I may have leaned on our good friend Morrison,_ ” he admitted.

While the soldier hadn’t retired with them, the local sheriff bore a striking resemblance to him, though his name was actually Hoffman, not Morrison. He was so tickled to learn that he resembled the famous Strike Commander that he let them call him Morrison as a joke.

“ _He agrees that bounty hunting is illegal and it is a serious concern that these men might be so willing to kidnap our daughter,_ ” Hanzo continued. “ _And will pursue this as far as his power is allowed to go. He does agree with our right to protect ourselves on our own property, as the men had their weapons illegally. They’ll be tied up in legalities for_ years _…if they’re lucky_.”

McCree hummed, leaning against his mate who nuzzled his cheek affectionately. “ _I wonder who we’re adopting next,_ ” McCree murmured into the silence and laughed—quietly—when Hanzo pinched him. “ _I’m sure Sam will pick someone good_.”

“ _I’ll take first watch,_ ” Hanzo said. “ _Go to sleep, silly._ ”

Standing, McCree kissed Hanzo just because he could. He stripped quickly and transformed into his wolf form so he could curl close to the tent with their children. Silver’s legs twitched and he pressed his cold nose to Silver’s back before resting his snout on their first son’s side; with a happy little sound, Silver reached down and put his hand on McCree’s nose, falling still once more.

He watched Hanzo get to his feet to stand guard over them and smiled. In the tent, he could hear their children sleeping, could just about see Sam with her face buried in SJ’s thick fur and an arm thrown around his neck. Smiling a wolfish smile to himself, McCree closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Frightful are partially based on the [trailer to a documentary](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vfi5JS6HTH0) I saw a while back. Their names are, of course, inspired by My Side of the Mountain by Jean Craighead George. 
> 
> For a rough chronology, visit the series page. I will post new chapters out of order (use the default so that it shows up as the "last" chapter) and as I continue to post, will eventually adjust them so that they are in chronological order. (Example: I post "chapter 6" (Rivalry) to the "chapter 6" position. When I post "chapter 7" (this chapter), I adjusted the previous "chapter 6" to its chronological position of "chapter 1". Does that make sense?)
> 
> For more information on what I am posting and where, I can be found on twitter at [dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus).
> 
> I love hearing from you!
> 
> ~DC


	9. Bananacroc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more this is the fault of [IchigoWhiskey](https://twitter.com/ichigowhiskey) who adopted [a new friend](https://www.sorbetjungle.com/collections/croconana/products/croconana-plush-toy) and _threw a challenge in my face_.
> 
> This is sort of a companion piece to [Serial Siblings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363735/chapters/48333118). The original joke with Sam's character was that she especially is the gateway for them to end up with so many very strange children. 
> 
> Like a croc (though in the original chat it was a gator).

Sam showed every sign of being a normal teenager.

Okay, she was a “normal” teenager that had a bounty that they didn’t really talk or ask about, that had lived in the woods for (as far as they could guess) three months, and that had rescued, raised, and trained a golden eagle. But nonetheless she was, for lack of a more delicate way to phrase it, normal and human.

She showed no signs of being a shifter; though it was difficult to tell with the behaviors she had picked up while living alone, she showed no signs of the secondary instincts that shifters possessed.

It’s not that they would have loved her any less if she was, but it was almost…refreshing. Hanzo could and did handle Silver—a centaur’s instincts for Herd and to obey the herdmaster ran deep—but the twins didn’t mind anyone but Baptiste when they were feeling particularly mischievous.

But Sam stepped up to the plate, there. She established herself as dominant over them in a neat move that McCree couldn’t help but be impressed with. He was fairly certain that she had younger siblings, or maybe younger cousins that she used to watch over. Maybe in her past life she had been a babysitter.

She minded the twins and they minded her in coyote or human form.

It was refreshing to not have to keep an eye on them—aside from their lessons that either Hanzo or McCree presided over, Sam took charge of them.

Sam was refreshing in a lot of ways. She tended to stay out of the way without hiding and her only true needs was to see to Frightful’s care. For the most part it wasn’t much of an issue—they had more than enough land for the two of them to hunt and after brief training with Sam, Frightful learned to ignore the coyotes running with them.

She explained that Frightful now understood that they were “hunting assistants” and not prey—they would scare up rabbits and other things for Frightful to hunt but they weren’t to be hunted, themselves. In turn she taught the coyotes to mind Frightful—one cuff over the head when they tried to nip playfully at the eagle was more than enough; to nail the lesson home, she showed them what Frightful’s beak and talons could do to a rabbit carcass and they knew not to try to “play” with their other sibling.

So of all the things that McCree had to worry about, Sam was nowhere near being on his list. She was quiet and polite and did her own laundry. She helped out in the kitchen during dinners and under Hanzo’s careful tutelage grew to be more than adept at wielding a knife in the kitchen.

In terms of firearms, she preferred close-range to sniping and McCree was more than happy to supplement her education in this. Not that Hanzo had much experience with fighting on two legs, anyway.

Even then she showed no signs of being anything other than a perfectly normal human girl.

At least…not until she went missing one afternoon.

The coyotes hadn’t seen her for a while, the oldest told McCree. The younger one ran in circles around their legs. She had been hunting with them and then set Frightful loose to free-fly for a while. Then she walked way into the woods toward the creek.

That was concerning enough for McCree to justify a search. He stripped down and transformed, quickly picking up her scent. The coyotes ran around and between and under his paws as he followed the trail into the meadows and then, as the coyotes had said, toward the creek.

It was technically a river as far as McCree could tell, but they still referred to it as “the creek” anyway. For the most part it was shallow, save for the very middle where it dropped to somewhere around chest-deep for Hanzo. There were areas where it was easy to cross, including a natural stone formation that formed a shallow waterfall; there the water was barely ankle-deep but the rush of it had worn the rock smooth and dangerous.

Their kids all knew better than to play on it.

He saw Sam before he saw what she was doing, and gave a relieved  _ wuff _ that caught her attention. Then he froze in alarm, his fur fluffing up as he realized that she was not straddling a submerged log but a crocodile.

Or…an alligator. He wasn’t sure which and at the moment it didn’t matter—it was a giant, angry log with teeth that could kill her with ease and McCree couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

“Hey Pops,” she greeted and leaned down to scratch at the danger-lizard’s chin as it opened its jaws and hissed.

The coyotes gathered around his forelegs nervously, eyeing the big lizard with suspicion and a little bit of fear. Finally, a sign that they had at least  _ some _ sense of self-preservation.

That wasn’t fair though—they had lived on their own for more than a few seasons before following SJ back to the homestead. They had to have  _ some _ form of survival instincts to survive for this long. Most likely they understood that they were safe now and were more comfortable for it.

McCree  _ whuff _ ed in what he hoped sounded like rebuke. He considered changing back but wasn’t sure if his naked human self would be any help against a giant log with teeth.

As if sensing his caution, Sam smiled at him. “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I explained who you are and he won’t attack so long as you don’t attack him first. He still thinks the coyotes look like tasty mouthfuls though.”

The coyotes yipped and darted further back into the bushes that lined the shoreline. McCree sighed and changed back. If Sam was uncomfortable with his nudity after a shift, she never showed up. To be fair this time, her attention was on the big lizard that she was lying on as comfortably as if it were Hanzo’s back.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” McCree said as soon as he had the mouth to do so. “What’s going on?”

“Sorry,” Sam told him apologetically. “Frightful said that she had seen a log with teeth so I went to take a look. We’re a bit far out of his natural territory.”

“A bit far” was an understatement.

There was a lot to unpack here, including Sam’s claims that Frightful said something to her or her casual claims to understand the big lizard’s thoughts.

McCree scrubbed a hand down his face. Magic—that was literally the only explanation. “Okay,” he said at last, with a heavy sigh. “First off, what is…that?”

“A crocodile,” Sam replied. “See? You can only see some of his teeth when his mouth is closed.”

The croc’s mouth was still open, showing off its pale pink tongue. McCree nodded as if he understood.

“Okay,” McCree said agreeably. “And what is a crocodile doing so far north? And west?”

Sam shrugged. “He’s not sure how he got here, just that he is here and that he’s having a difficult time getting food.” She hesitated. “Can we…keep him? Just for a few days while he gets his strength back up.”

For a long moment McCree struggled with himself. There was dismay at the thought  _ of a crocodile in the river _ , with amusement that their chain of children adopting more children was continuing. It was only a matter of time, he supposed, and realized that he was already thinking in terms of keeping the damn croc.

The look on Hanzo’s face would be priceless.

“That’s a question for your father,” McCree said instead. He scratched his chin absently and dug in the gear bag he kept on his neck for his phone. Taking a quick picture of Sam and the croc he sent it to Hanzo with no caption.

It wasn’t long before they heard the sound of hooves on the stone path. Hanzo skidded dramatically to a halt, raising and drawing his bow in a smooth motion.

“Don’t!” Sam threw herself over the crocodile’s head, her arms dropping within easy range of its open jaws.

Hanzo swore in a language that didn’t sound like it was meant for human vocal cords and lowered his bow slightly. A moment later Silver crashed through the brushes after him, despite his size still not quite up to keeping up with Hanzo when he wanted to  _ move _ .

McCree walked up to Hanzo and patted his lower shoulder soothingly. “Sam made a new friend,” he said. “She and Frightful were hunting and Frightful told her that she saw a crocodile in the river.”

“Can we take care of him for a few days?” Sam asked, her voice wavering a little. She didn’t like to ask for things, especially of Hanzo. “He’s a bit lost and he’s having a difficult time hunting.”

Hanzo glared at McCree like it was his fault and lowered his bow all the way. He turned to Sam. “How do you know?”

“He told me,” Sam explained in a rush. “He says that he’s not sure how he got here but I think he was in a traveling circus or something, or maybe a zoo. He got into the river but there’s not enough food to sustain him very well and I don’t think he has that many wild instincts to help him. I  _ think _ if he follows the river south, he should be fine but it’s a long way and he hasn’t been eating well.”

The coyotes laughed from where they were hiding in the bushes.

Hanzo looked at McCree, clearly resigned. “We  _ were _ thinking of renovating the barn,” he said absently. “I suppose we had better do so sooner rather than later.”

Nervously, Sam propped herself up on the crocodile’s back. “So…can we?”

“For now, he needs to stay in the river,” Hanzo decided at last. “My love?”

McCree shrugged. “I’m fine with that. If he stays longer, we’ll have to figure out better accommodations—I’m sure that the water will soon be too cold for him, if it’s not already.”

Stamping a hoof, Hanzo snorted. “He’s your responsibility,” he told Sam. “Where are the coyotes?” the twins tumbled out and sat in front of his forelegs, the picture of obedience. “If you get eaten by him, it’s your own fault.” They lowered their ears submissively for a half second before darting off into the bushes, away from the river. Hanzo looked at Silver. “Same goes for you.”

Their first child snorted.  _ I’m not  _ stupid _ , _ he signed as he followed Hanzo away from the river.

Grinning McCree turned back to Sam. “Well, there you go,” he teased. “You got a croc.”

Sam made a face. “He’s not a  _ pet _ ,” she protested.

“None of us think so,” McCree assured her—and, he supposed, the croc. “But we need to be cautious. No offense to your friend, but all of us would like to keep our limbs and lives.”

“He says that you’d all probably be stringy anyway,” Sam told him with a giggle. She patted his neck and swung off of his back. “Do you think I can get a ride back to the homestead? He would like some food and I need to talk to Frightful.”

While Hanzo was typically the one to give rides, McCree was technically large enough to accommodate most of their children as well. “Sure thing, kiddo,” he said as he began to transform.

SJ and Silver were playing in the paddock when they returned which told McCree that Hanzo was in the kitchen, probably working on lunch since McCree was out. Frightful was perched on the gate, preening herself. “Thanks Pops,” Sam said as she slid down and made a beeline for the golden eagle.

Shaking himself, McCree transformed back and ducked into the mudroom for an extra set of clothes.

Hanzo was muttering to himself in the kitchen, munching on something as he chopped vegetables into a fine paste. He flicked an ear toward McCree as he walked in, the other following when McCree patted his hindquarters as he passed.

“So, what do you think?” McCree asked.

“Magic,” Hanzo said flatly, stamping a hoof. Not for the first time, McCree was glad that they had concrete floors in the areas that the centaurs frequented. It would cost a fortune to replace wood panels and tiles every time they stamped their hooves, even if they rarely wore shoes indoors.

McCree chuckled and patted Hanzo’s lower shoulder before reaching in the refrigerator for the leftover turkey from last night’s dinner. From the state of the vegetables, Hanzo intended to make turkey salad. “Didn’t expect that, huh?”

Annoyed, Hanzo’s tail flicked. “Can you blame me?”

“No,” McCree assured him. “I didn’t see it coming, either.  _ I _ thought that she was just good with animals.”

“Maybe so,” Hanzo grumbled. “I just do not like surprises like this.”

McCree laughed. “It could be worse,” he pointed out. “At least this one is at least a little benign. And it works out—the twins and Frightful can go hunting for our new friend’s meals so it’s not like it’ll be a particularly large effort to keep him. It’s not like it would put a huge strain even if Frightful couldn’t hunt.” Briskly, he washed his hands and began pulling the meat off the carcasses for Hanzo to chop.

“At this rate, we really need to renovate that barn sooner than we anticipated,” Hanzo said. Though he sounded reluctant, McCree knew his mate better and bumped his hips against Hanzo’s side, careful to not topple off the stool.

(And it was a strange feeling to have to stand on a stool to comfortably work at this counter! McCree was used to being the tall one on base but Hanzo still had him beat in terms of height.)

“It’ll be a fun project,” McCree assured him. “Though we may need to get an exotic animal license. I’m not sure what the laws for that are like, here.”

Hanzo snorted. “Why apply when we can simply skip the red tape?”

“Because applying would be much more interesting,” McCree laughed.

“ _ Annoying _ , you mean,” Hanzo grumbled and slapped McCree with his tail. “We can go over ideas tonight after dinner, see if anyone has ideas for the barn.” He turned suddenly and surprised McCree with a kiss to the cheek. “I’m not mad,” he said needlessly.

McCree smiled and turned his head to kiss Hanzo back. “I know,” he murmured. “You just don’t much like surprises and it seems like our Sam is one surprise after another.”

* * *

Nobody was surprised that the crocodile stayed for longer than “a few days”. Sam at least was apologetic and they had to take her aside to assure her that it was alright, that they wouldn’t throw her out for such a transgression. That talk had segued into Sam’s magic. She reluctantly admitted that it was one of the reasons for her bounty—that and being in the wrong place at the wrong time and associated with the wrong people. It was what allowed her to find and train Frightful and why they had such a close bond—it was also what allowed her to interact easily with the twins.

She couldn’t do the same for SJ or McCree though. Thus far, her powers as she understood them, seemed limited to oddly specific animals.

“Like crocodiles,” Hanzo said dryly.

Sam ducked her head. “Like crocodiles,” she agreed meekly.

For a long moment Hanzo seemed lost in thought. He turned to McCree. “There is a zoo nearby,” he said. “I think that we should get a better idea what animals you can interact with. It is obviously not going to be a complete list, but I think it would be a good course of action to follow.”

“What do you think?” McCree asked Sam. “Think you’re up to it?”

Sam nodded shyly. “I haven’t been to a zoo before.”

“Tomorrow,” McCree promised. “Just you and I.”

“Not the twins? Or Silver?” Sam looked scandalized.

“They don’t typically do well with centaurs there,” Hanzo said dryly. “And then there would be the issue of transporting Silver.”

Sam looked surprised and then understanding. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Besides,” Hanzo said dryly. “We’re slowly gaining our own menagerie here. And the coyotes probably wouldn’t behave themselves very well in such a large crowd. Maybe when they’re older or better socialized.”

McCree winked at Sam. “Tomorrow. Get some rest, we’re leaving early. And tell Frightful she’ll unfortunately have to stay behind.”

“I’ll send her free-flying in the morning,” Sam said, leaping to her feet. “Thank you!” she turned and ran away, partly out of excitement and partly out of relief to be done with the conversation.

Hanzo snorted but said nothing else. “Silver and I will get to work pulling down the walls of the barn,” he said. “It’ll be better to start building from scratch than to try to renovate that death trap.”

Leaning close, McCree kissed Hanzo lazily. “I didn’t expect our retirement to be this…”

“Exciting?” Hanzo asked dryly. “Neither did I.”

* * *

The next morning, McCree and Sam left just after breakfast, making it to the zoo just as it opened.

“We went to the zoo before,” Sam admitted quietly. “My…family and I. But I don’t remember being able to talk to the animals.”

“Maybe your magic hadn’t developed yet,” McCree suggested. “It happens with some shifters. I know someone that hadn’t grown into her shifting until she was in her thirties.”

Sam looked shocked. “Really? I thought it developed early.”

“Not always,” McCree explained. “It develops early if you’re born with the gene. Sometimes you’re able to develop it, but as far as viruses go, it's really not very infectable.”

She squinted at him. “I’m not sure that’s a real word,” she said suspiciously.

McCree winked at her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “To-may-to, to-mah-to,” he told her and she laughed. “Thing is, the virus doesn’t behave like other things like the flu or measles or whatever. The infectivity rate is very low outside of blood transfusion. Which is why it’s so hard these days to donate blood—it’s incredibly difficult for the virus to be completely removed or for a universal test to be administered. There are just so many variations that it gets difficult.” He shrugged. “Not to mention, it doesn’t behave like a normal virus does—that’s where the magic comes in.”

“I remember learning in school that it’s a magic virus,” Sam said slowly. “That’s how it mutated?”

He ruffled her hair, despite her being far too old for such things. She laughed and swatted his hand away. “Smart girl. If you want a more detailed talk about viruses, you can ask Ange the next time she visits us and she’ll talk your ear off. It’s one of her hobbies I think—research on the virus. It’s…a long story, full of rivalry and competition. It’s actually hilarious, if you can manage to sit through it all.”

Sam was silent for a while and McCree looked over to find that she was staring at him, a contemplative look on her face. “What did you used to do?” she asked slowly, as if aware that it was a sensitive subject.

Then he laughed because nobody had asked him before. Oh, people in town did when he and Hanzo first moved, but the twins didn’t care and Silver had spent his first year or so with them on the Overwatch base.

“I’ll tell you later,” McCree told her with a conspiratorial wink. Her eyes widened in surprise and she grinned.

“When I’m older?” she teased.

McCree snorted. “Yeah. One day older.”

They fell silent for a while. “So you think I have magic?” she asked tentatively.

“It ain’t a matter of  _ thinking _ ,” McCree pointed out. “You talked to a fucking  _ croc _ . We  _ know _ you have magic, just not what kind—or the extent of your strength.” He found a kiosk with a map of the zoo and inspected it critically. What kind of zoo had a beer garden?

“Why is there a beer garden?” Sam asked, squinting at her own map.

McCree ruffled her hair again and she swatted at his hand with a laugh. “Now I  _ know _ you’re my daughter.” She punched him on the shoulder and they both laughed. “Come on, let’s go this way.”

* * *

Later that afternoon as they made the long drive back to the homestead, McCree told her about the Deadlock Gang, who was still relevant enough for her to whistle appreciatively. He told her, without extra flourishes or euphemisms, about the Blackwatch raid and his time in service; he told her about the reformed Overwatch.

“Is that how you met Hanzo?” Sam asked quietly.

McCree chuckled fondly. “Yes,” he agreed. “He and his brother answered the Recall. We didn’t get on at first but obviously that changed.” Sam giggled.

They fell silent as the sun began to set. Just as they were beginning to get hungry enough for dinner, McCree noticed a spot of color on the horizon. He nudged Sam who had been watching the horizon distractedly. “How about we get some greasy fair food and I’ll prove to you that I’m the best deadeye there is?”

“Hanzo won’t agree,” Sam said with a laugh, but she perked up at the thought of a fair. “He says he’s the best sniper.”

“I’d like to see him say the same thing to Ana Amari’s face. You and I can watch from a distance.”

Sam sucked in a breath. “Is it true that she’s a lioness?”

“She’s a lot smaller than you’d expect,” McCree laughed. “Only, don’t tell her that! She’s still plenty big for a big kitty cat. She loves taking naps on Hanzo’s back.” Obviously imagining that, Sam laughed.

Her laughter trailed off as McCree pulled into the gravel parking lot. “What if someone recognizes me?” she asked as McCree undid his seatbelt and turned off the engine.

McCree winked at her. “Don’t sweat it,” he told her, softening his bravado with a gently punch against her shoulder. “Ain’t nobody going to be paying much attention to us. And if they did? Well we’re on our turf now.”

She followed in his shadow as they wandered the fair and eventually loosened up enough to try the deep-fried foods at the various tents. McCree took pictures of her eating a turkey leg and sent it to Hanzo with the caption “Frightful in another life”.

Hanzo sent back a picture of the golden eagle who stared at the camera as if comprehending the joke.

True to his word, McCree terrorized all of the shooting galleries. After a poorly-shot round to get used to the weapon, he then proceeded to hit the dead center of the targets every time. They won an obscene number of stuffed animals which they gave away to the children that followed them around, circling like vultures. Sam kept a few that she insisted the group back at the homestead would like, which she carried in her arms throughout the fair with a stubbornness that warmed McCree’s heart.

She insisted on carrying them back, insisted on bringing something back so that they wouldn’t feel left out after being left behind.

They were just getting ready to leave when he caught sight of an enormous stuffed animal at the ring toss game, the one tent he hadn’t tormented.

Yet.

He nudged Sam’s shoulder and pointed at the biggest stuffed animal hanging above the game. Out of the corner of his eye, he could already see the attendant sweating nervously. “I’m getting that one for you,” he promised. Sam laughed so hard that she nearly dropped all of the stuffed animals in her arms.

* * *

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” Silver said very clearly when he saw them climb out of the truck with their haul.  _ They had stuffed animals at the zoo? _ He signed.

McCree murmured a translation to Sam, who was not yet fluent in ASL. She was getting there, though. “Pops won it at the fair,” she explained. “We passed one on the way back and had dinner there.”

“And you terrorized the games tents, didn’t you?” Hanzo asked with a snort.

“Naturally,” McCree agreed without an ounce of shame. “Won something for everyone, too.”

Sam was already handing out their prizes. One of the twins got a stuffed panda—McCree thought it was the older one but he wasn’t sure—and the other got a bright pink seahorse. Silver got a cartoonish cowboy plush and SJ got a colorful basketball, the only non-plush item they had brought back.

Shyly, Sam gave Hanzo the last stuffed animal in her hand, a giant plush anaconda that looked tiny compared to the centaur. It was bright, fluorescent blue—a shade that was painful enough in the dark but would be blinding in direct sunlight. “For your tattoo.”

To her obvious surprise, Hanzo burst into laughter and accepted it, draping it around his neck and carefully spinning in place to show it off as Sam giggled.

“Did you get anything for yourself?” Hanzo asked, watching the rest of the kids play with their toys.

McCree laughed and ducked back toward the backseat of the truck. “Oh, we  _ absolutely _ did.”

The stuffed animal was truly monstrous. It was nearly the same size as Sam and big enough around that she had a hard time wrapping her arms around it.

For a long moment, Hanzo stared at it the way that he looked at something that he wasn’t sure was dangerous or not. One of the twins shifted into his human form and said, “Crocanana” before shifting back and shaking his stuffed animal in his mouth.

The other changed into his human form and said, “Nanners.” He stayed in his human form and smacked his brother with his stuffed toy before running off into the house, wiggling through the doggie door as his twin gave chance.

Hanzo eyed the monstrous combination of a crocodile and a banana, at its silly grin and enormous eyes. It even had little ridges made of triangles of felt along its spine.

It was hard to take Hanzo seriously with his fluorescent blue anaconda plush around his neck, even harder with the wide grin on his face when he said, “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.”

McCree laughed and Sam buried her face in the enormous plush toy. “Takes one to know one.”

Everyone fell silent and Sam looked horrified that she had said so out loud. Then McCree laughed again and Hanzo laughed and scooped her up in his arms like she was a child and threatened to dump her and Crocanana in the water trough.

It led to them all playing in the paddock by the floodlights at the front of the homestead and the brilliance of the moon and stars above them. Crocanana gained dirt and grass stains and was nearly forgotten as they all wrestled, careful of flailing hooves from Hanzo and Silver. By the time they all wore themselves out and lay on their backs to stare up at the stars, it was late.

McCree sat up and looked over at Hanzo who was on his back, his hooves curled over his barrel for balance and his arms pillowed beneath his head. These days his smile was softer and came quicker, the lines drawn in his face from tension, from their hard lifestyle with Overwatch beginning to smooth out. Their retirement didn’t stop the growth of his silver hair and now it was threaded through his ink-black hair like starlight.

Seemingly sensing his gaze, Hanzo turned and smiled so brightly at McCree that he needed to lean in for a soft kiss which Hanzo happily returned.

Their kids all made noises of mock disgust. Hanzo pulled away and rolled to his feet, dragging McCree with him and then lifting him, dipping him into a ridiculous and exaggerated pose for a kiss that was more suited for the front of a romance novel.

McCree couldn’t respond even if he wanted to, too busy laughing.

“Come on,” Hanzo said, laughing himself. “Let’s all go inside and make some dessert.”

“Crepes?” Silver asked excitedly, his long legs flailing around comically before he managed to roll himself to his hooves.

“Only if I get some help in the kitchen,” Hanzo promised, helping McCree to swing astride his back.

Sam picked up the crocanana and dusted pieces of straw and grass off of it with a wide grin. “Frightful’s going to  _ hate _ it,” she said, holding it at arms-length to look it over. “Thanks, Pops.”

_ Is this what it feels like? _ McCree wondered quietly to himself as they all began walking back to the homestead. The coyote twins were both sitting on the porch, both in their four-legged forms and their heads cocked to the side.

He reached down and ruffled her hair as Hanzo opened the gate to the paddock, allowing everyone to file out. “Anytime, kiddo.” He slid off Hanzo’s back as he latched the gate and opened the door to the kitchen. “Dessert time,” he told the coyotes. “Crepes.”

They spun around excitedly and ran back inside through the doggie door despite McCree holding the door open for them. Silver clearly contemplated the doggie door before catching McCree’s raised eyebrow and trotting through the one he held as if that had been his intention the entire time.

Hanzo ducked in and McCree made a mental note—as he always did and then always forgot—to make the door bigger. It really was stupid that the walls and ceilings were tall enough for Hanzo and Silver but the doorways were all still human-sized.

He realized that Sam was still standing in front of the house, holding Crocanana, her cheek pressed against it as she watched the doorway as if afraid to walk through.

It wasn’t fear, he realized. It was wonder. He remembers the feeling, back in Blackwatch when he realized that he could have a home—that he might have some fucked up kind of family in Blackwatch and Genji and Reyes.

(Not Moira. Fuck her.)

“You coming?” he asked softly and pretended not to see the way that Sam’s eyes were shining just a little too-brightly. She pressed her face into the giant stuffed animal in her arms, making it look like a hug and not like she was trying to discreetly wipe away her tears.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice wavering. Her smile, despite her shaky voice, was brilliant. “I’m not about to miss crepes.” She ran into the house past McCree, careful of her stuffed animal.

McCree’s cheek twitched and he realized that it had been because he was smiling, had been smiling and laughing so much that day that his muscles were tired, were twitching. Putting a hand to his cheek, he ducked his head and took a deep breath before stepping in as well.

He let the door close behind him and walked into the too-crowded kitchen. The twins were in their human forms, using butter knives to carefully slice bananas beneath Sam’s careful eye; she was slicing and coring strawberries at the table next to them. Hanzo was mixing the batter for crepes while Silver watched him, his ears pricked forward in interest.

Soon, they would start on the homemade whipped cream and then would all sit down to eat crepes together and watch some kind of silly movie in the living room. The kids would fall asleep where they lay and Hanzo and McCree would leave them there rather than risk waking them and starting a stampede when the sugar kicked in. When they came back in the morning, they’d find all of them tangled up in an enormous pile of limbs and fur and human skin.

And then, just as he was now, McCree would stare and smile so hard that his cheeks hurt. He would kiss Hanzo as they watched their family sleep and realize that even though they hadn’t anticipated adopting so many kids, they wouldn’t change a single thing.

Even if, somewhere on their property, there was an actual fucking crocodile hanging out in a river.

But that was a “later” problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love it? Hate it? Come and yell at me about it. 
> 
> You can also find me on Twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). There I post updates and information on when I will be posting things. 
> 
> ~DC


	10. Herd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place between [Rescue Mission](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363735/chapters/46673614) and [Meat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363735/chapters/46071808).

Hanzo’s ears twisted back in dismay.

“Do…you not like it?” Lúcio asked, watching Hanzo’s expression carefully.

The centaur’s cropped tail, the ends jagged and uneven, swished; his ears twisted back, nearly pinning, before peeking forward again. His facial expression didn’t change and while Lúcio wasn’t an expert in equine body language, he knew that Hanzo was displeased somehow.

“It’s too much,” Hanzo said at last. “And…” his lips twisted and Lúcio’s heart sank further. “I cannot use them. I cannot reach that far,” he added reluctantly.

Was that it? Lúcio grinned. He could work with that. “I was worried that it wasn’t enough,” he admitted. “There’s only so much that the internet can help me so I tried my best. I figured that these were the basics and we could go from there.” Too much he could handle, but the pride of having someone else tend him? That would be more difficult.

“As for the other thing,” Lúcio said slowly, looking up at Hanzo. “You don’t need to groom yourself. You have a team now—and I’m more than happy to help you. If you’re comfortable with that, I mean.” He frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with asking for help from time to time. And frankly? I hate seeing you feeling so alone. It’s selfish of me but it hurts me to see you like this because I know that your coat is like this because you don’t have a herd to help you. So, I want to help you. If you’ll let me.”

For a long moment, Hanzo watched him silently. His ears were pricked forward attentively and his face was carefully blank. “Very well,” he said and Lúcio grinned triumphantly.

“Great!” he exclaimed. “Now…will you tell me which brushes to use?”

* * *

The next time McCree saw Hanzo, he had to do a double-take. He almost didn’t recognize the centaur without his shaggy, dark grey fur and worn blankets.

He could understand, his own fur being thick and matted before arriving on base. Mei had been more than happy to sit with him and help him very carefully trim and untangle his fur. It had required a bath, which McCree hadn’t liked, but in the end, it felt like he had shed fifty pounds of fur from old coats that hadn’t properly shed.

How many pounds of shed had Hanzo had? Brigitte had already treated his hooves and now someone had painstakingly worked to clear out much of his old coats. Being on the run meant that it was difficult to keep buying supplies, so Hanzo had only a small selection of worn and tattered blankets that he had used to “clothe” himself.

Now his coat was sleeker, darker, and McCree thought that when the last of his old coats were gone, it would be dark and glossy, perhaps with some grey sprinkled in at his withers. His tail, while still lopped short, had been trimmed as well to even it out, make the ends less jagged. The blanket he wore was new, all of the seams still intact and the fastenings still shiny. Thanks to Brigitte, his hooves were smooth, properly treated, and coated with a shiny kind of resin that reminded McCree of nail polish.

His dour expression hadn’t changed and his sides were still thin, but he was already looking much better than he had when he had first arrived.

Shaking his head, McCree ignored the centaur as he went about making his lunch. The sheer amount of food needed to sustain their small group of freaks was staggering and as McCree put away the ingredients he had been using to make his sandwich, he eyed the rest of the produce.

“You hungry?” he asked Hanzo who startled, shifting on his hooves. “Sit down,” he said gruffly. “I’ll make you a sandwich.”

Hanzo’s ears pinned. Clearly, he had not forgotten their rivalry in the simulation. “I assure you, it’s not needed,” he said stiffly.

Ignoring him, McCree pulled out a head of lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and cucumbers. “You eat cheese?” he asked, eyeing the feta. When Hanzo didn’t answer, he growled. “Well?”

Poking his head over the door of the refrigerator, he found that the centaur had left.

Muttering to himself, he chopped the vegetables and mixed it into a salad. He covered the top in plastic wrap, labeled it with Hanzo’s name, and left.

* * *

Hanzo’s ears pinned and he looked distrustfully at Lena and the bundle in her arms.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said tartly. Though initially she had been friendly enough, her regard had soured after their interaction in the simulation. He could understand—she didn’t like to lose, and his presence was a reminder that she had little experience fighting, with or against, a centaur. “You look a mess and you’re representing Overwatch now, not yourself.”

Carefully, he accepted the bundle and opened it. It revealed itself to be a blanket, albeit one that was crudely made and obviously repurposed from fabric around the base. The Overwatch logo was positioned to be on his flanks, like a brand, and he shivered uncomfortably.

His scar itched.

“Thank you,” he said stiffly and when she nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line, he walked away.

He found Brigitte in the workshop. She took one look at his face and put down her gear, gesturing for him to follow her into the back workroom. “What’s wrong?” she asked as she set up her stool and stand.

At her gesture, he shifted his weight and set a hoof on the stand for her to inspect. It still needed more trimming and careful treatment to cut back all of the dead growth that had been on his hooves for the past however-long.

“Agent Tracer gave me a blanket,” he admitted glumly.

Of everyone on base, he trusted Brigitte the most. Somehow. Perhaps it was the openness of her face, her simple excitement. Perhaps it was the way that she didn’t walk on eggshells around him, or didn’t treat him as if not sure what to do about him.

“Did she?” Brigitte asked, pausing to look up at Hanzo with an unamused look. Seeing the bundle he was holding, she held out her hands.

Hanzo took his hoof off the stand as she stood and opened the blanket. She made a disgusted sound. “The stitches are nice at least,” she said critically. “But whoever did this let the fabric bunch up. Hold still.” Warned, Hanzo managed to avoid jumping when she draped it over his back for a better look at it. She clicked her tongue. “She means well, I suppose. What was the purpose of giving it to you?”

“She said that I represent Overwatch and that I don’t look…” he hesitated, trying to remember just what she had said.

Brigitte seemed to understand and clicked her tongue again. “Right. Let me handle it.”

“It’s okay,” Hanzo protested but Brigitte gave him a look that made him close his mouth.

“It’s not,” she told him firmly. “If you’re going to be representing Overwatch as she says, then you had better have gear that suits you. This,” and here she gestured at the blanket. “Is inadequate, is too short, and is uneven. How are you supposed to wear it? Will it be under your gear? Over it?” she shook her head. “No. If we’re not going to order something for you, then we’re at least going to make sure you’re kitted out correctly.”

Briskly, she bundled up the blanket and tossed it carelessly aside. Hanzo eyed it before looking back at Brigitte’s stern expression.

“Let’s have a look at those hooves,” she said briskly, gesturing imperiously at the stand. Hanzo obediently lifted his hoof to the stand and she sat down to inspect it.

For a long moment, they stood and worked in silence, broken only by the rough scrape of the rasp and the occasional sound of her clippers trimming dead hoof.

“I heard that Lú bought a set of brushes for you?” Brigitte asked as she began working on his other foreleg. “You’re looking nice.”

Hanzo tried to shift his weight but with one leg on the stand, he couldn’t. “He should not have,” he said stiffly. “It’s a waste of money.”

“Lú has his own reasons for doing what he did,” Brigitte told him. “And that’s his choice, not yours. Though Lena’s…” she hummed, pursing her lips as she tried to find the right words. “Lena’s right as well, in her own way. You’re representing Overwatch, illegal though we may be. If you cannot accept that Lú just wants to help you, then accept it because your care and appearance reflects on us.”

Hanzo snorted. “I doubt anyone would care.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Brigitte told him firmly. “Oh, I doubt they expect all of us to have our armor polished and shining and perfect, but if we don’t look like we can take care of ourselves, how can they believe that we can take care of them?” she shook her head. “You’re a lot more…mmm…visible than the rest of us are. If they see that your hooves are overgrown, that your coat is shaggy and unkempt, what will they think? How can they have confidence in us if we mistreat each other?”

Hanzo snorted. “You’re hardly mistreating me.”

“You may think that,” Brigitte told him. “And to an extent, you may even be correct, but not everyone knows that—and not everyone cares. We know the context of your…self-flagellation and your shitty sense of taking care of yourself.” Surprised, Hanzo tossed his head and Brigitte laughed. Her expression sobered. “Not everyone will wonder if there’s a reason—they’ll only see that one of us is not as well as the others. They will wonder if there is a bias, or if there’s speciesism, or whatever reason they may think of. They’ll make up their own stories sometimes and we don’t have the resources to fight Talon, Null Sector, and the press once they get an idea in their mind.”

Hanzo’s ears twisted back as he looked away. “You’re right,” he admitted with a great sigh from both sets of lungs.

“I know I am,” Brigitte said gently. “So, you let me handle this. As your unofficial armorer, it’s my job. And,” her tone darkened enough that Hanzo looked back at her cautiously. “I need to have a word with Lena.”

Knowing better than to argue, Hanzo nodded.

* * *

“I’m testing out a new line,” Lúcio explained to Hanzo’s dubious expression. “These are some of the prototypes and I want to see how it fits. Are you willing to try it on?”

Hanzo gave Brigitte a betrayed look and she shrugged to let him know that she had nothing to do with it.

“Most of my music is uncomfortable to centaurs and other shifters,” Lúcio told Hanzo. “But a few of my more recent albums are more inclusive. I want to make sure that they feel as welcome and I figure that blankets might be a good start.” He held up the bundle in his arms. “These are just prototypes that my agent sent me for approval and they don’t look right just lying on the bed. Do you mind?”

Hanzo’s ears twitched back. “Okay,” he said a little reluctantly and Lúcio grinned up at him. He and Brigitte helped to settle the first blanket over his shoulders.

“No,” Lúcio said immediately. “No, that’s terrible.”

“It’s too short,” Hanzo agreed.

“Let me get my tape measure so we can give better notes,” Brigitte suggested and trotted off toward the workshop.

Lúcio fussed with the blanket. “How does it fit around the chest?”

“It’s too tight,” Hanzo murmured. “Down the spine it fits better. I think the manufacturer may have confused the sizes for a smaller centaur.”

The musician hummed. “Yeah, I see what you’re saying—they used the spine measurement for your size but the chest measurement for someone smaller?” He ran his hands over Hanzo’s back. “And the length, I guess. I don’t know. What do you look for in a blanket?”

Hanzo shrugged. “It depends,” he admitted. “And my tastes are more…traditional I suppose. I at least like to have my barrel covered.”

Tilting his head to the side, Lúcio took a few steps back. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I see what you mean.” He stepped close again and tugged at the strap that ran down Hanzo’s barrel. “What about this? Is this too tight?”

“It’s tight,” Hanzo agreed, twisting around to look at Lúcio. “I think it’s on the last buckle?” checking, the musician nodded. “It’s uncomfortable. I think if I was moving, I’d want to take it off. And…” he trailed off, suddenly unsure.

“Tell me,” Lúcio urged, pulling out his holo-pad and beginning to scribble quick notes. “Tear it apart.” He flashed a quick smile at Hanzo who relaxed slightly.

“The material isn’t right,” he said. “It’s like the manufacturer tried to combine a winter blanket and a summer blanket.”

Lúcio cocked his head to the side. “There are different blankets?” he asked and then shook his head. “Well, if there are different jackets and clothes for humans, why not centaurs too?”

“What about…” Hanzo hesitated, his ears twitching backwards nervously.

“No, go on,” Lúcio urged. “What about what?”

Hanzo shifted and lifted a hoof. “What about leg wrappings?” he suggested. “A lot of centaurs use them and it might be easier to work with at first. Humans use something similar, too—the rolls of athletic bandages. You could design a line of those with your logo and I think that it would do pretty well. It would be easy too, and as far as I’m aware, I haven’t seen any decorated wraps.”

For a long moment, Lúcio stared at him. “You’re right,” he breathed. “Oh, that’s choice! I know just the kind of wraps you’re talking about—I used to use it all the time for sports. I don’t know if that material can withstand a logo, since it’s meant to stretch and move, but yeah, I’ll definitely look into that.” He scribbled furiously on his pad as Brigitte returned.

They spent the afternoon measuring the blanket and Hanzo and comparing notes with the proposed packaging on the blanket. Then they critiqued the design and the way the patterns fell on Hanzo’s sides, the buckles and elastic, the lining and trim.

Lúcio had another blanket to try and they repeated the whole process.

“I was thinking,” Brigitte murmured, looking at Hanzo’s legs. “What about leg wraps?”

“We talked about the stretchy bandages,” Lúcio told her and she shook her head.

“No,” she clarified. “What about the kind that buckle?” she knelt at Hanzo’s hooves and gestured. “Horses—sorry, Hanzo—use them all the time too. And those I’m sure you could decorate as well. It would be easier than the athletic bandages and would most likely keep their shape better.”

“Thanks!” Lúcio exclaimed as he scribbled quickly. “I’m gonna send this off to my agent and we’ll see what we can do! Thank you so much.”

Brigitte and Hanzo watched him run off excitedly, nearly running into Reinhardt.

“He has so much energy,” Brigitte said faintly. “He makes me feel old.”

Hanzo snorted as Reinhardt poked his head into the room. “I think he’s older than you.”

“Which makes it worse.” Seeing Reinhardt, Brigitte elbowed Hanzo’s lower shoulder. “Come on. You up for some sparring?”

* * *

“How?” Hana demanded in a bitten-off hiss. She gesticulated frantically at the large ginger cat asleep on Hanzo’s back.

Pretending as if he was unaware of his passenger, Hanzo turned to look at the cat. Her tail twitched but gave no other sign that she knew that they were talking about her.

“I suspect that she just jumped up,” Hanzo told her innocently.

She scowled at him. “Oh, don’t play that with me!” she exclaimed. “How? _How?_ ”

The cat got to her feet, stretched, and leaped from his hindquarters to the roof of the nearby shed. Hanzo chuckled and continued walking to the paddocks where Ana was waiting.

“Your turn?” he asked the lioness and braced himself as she tensed her hindquarters for a leap. She found a place on his hindquarters and draped herself over his spine like an enormous blanket.

With her in place, he began walking around the small paddock, keeping his hooves to the grooves he had worn in the overgrown grass. As he walked, he meditated, relaxing despite the predator draped over his back for a nap. When Brigitte returned after messing with Hana, he let her drape herself over his upper shoulders so that Ana wouldn’t have to move from her lazy sprawl.

He should be uncomfortable with them so near, but he found himself relaxing despite himself. And meditating with two feline shifters purring was surprisingly pleasant.

Despite himself, he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it. I had a lot of fun writing it. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! You can find me here or on Twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). I'm always excited to hear from you all!
> 
> ~DC


	11. Fleas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after [Herd](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363735/chapters/53999959) and before [Meat](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363735/chapters/46071808)

“You got yourself into this mess,” Hana heard Hanzo say sternly as she approached Brigitte’s workshop. “I know you hate flea treatments, but they’re there for a reason. Let this be a lesson.”

Hana stopped in surprise when she heard a sad little meow.

“I know,” Hanzo said, voice softer. “I’m sure this is very uncomfortable for you, but I’ll do my best to be quick about it. Unless you want to shave your fur?”

Carefully she peeked around the corner and pressed both hands over her mouth in shock. The orange cat that she’d been chasing for weeks was sitting in a large basin of water while Hanzo patiently washed her. A basin of water and a flea comb sitting on a nearby towel supported what she had overheard.

The poor thing looked half her size with her fur wet and Hana stifled a giggle. Just as amusing was the soft look on Hanzo’s face, an expression she wasn’t used to seeing on the usually dour-faced centaur.

“Close your eyes,” Hanzo said, reaching for a nearby bucket of water. To Hana’s shock, the cat obeyed, twisting her ears back as Hanzo carefully poured the water over her head and neck. “I suppose this won’t be very pleasant but please try to hold still.”

As Hana watched in mute shock, Hanzo very delicately ran the flea comb over the cat’s face, occasionally dipping the comb into the basin of water to get rid of the fleas that it had caught.

The cat mewed again and Hana watched the way that Hanzo’s face melted into a smile.

“I know it’s terrible,” he agreed. “I’ll try to be quick but you know I need to make sure I get everything. Then I suppose you’ll accept the flea treatments, am I correct?” the cat made a small mew, her ears twisting back.

Hana watched them for a while, committing Hanzo’s soft expression and gentle words to memory. He was an ornery bastard most of the time, but here was finally some proof that he had a heart.

Though for the life of her she couldn’t figure out how he had managed to bewitch the damn cat!

Hanzo held out a towel for the cat who docilely climbed in and allowed him to wrap her up. “Let’s get you dried off,” he murmured, rocking to his hooves and entering the workshop through the open garage door.

Shaking her head, Hana followed. The main area of the workshop was empty but somewhere in the back she could hear a blow dryer as Hanzo dried the cat. Knowing better than to go poking around—Dae-hyung hated it when she did that, so she figured that Brigitte would be the same—she instead settled on one of the plastic chairs along the wall and fiddled with her phone.

“—was a deeply unpleasant experience that I never want to repeat ever again,” Brigitte said from somewhere down the hall and Hana lifted her head in surprise.

“Maybe next time you’ll take the flea treatments,” Hanzo said with a high wicker of a laugh. “Save us both the trouble.”

Brigitte and Hanzo walked out into the main area of the workshop. The cat was nowhere to be seen. Hana frowned at the two of them in the few seconds before they noticed her and wondered...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by the many, many flea baths I've had to give my stupid cats.
> 
> Anyway, I can also be found on Twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). Feel free to come and yell at me! 
> 
> ~DC

**Author's Note:**

> For a rough chronology, visit [the series page](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1303655). I will post new chapters out of order (use the default so that it shows up as the "last" chapter) and as I continue to post, will eventually adjust them so that they are in chronological order. (Example: I post "chapter 6" to the "chapter 6" position. When I post "chapter 7", I adjust the previous "chapter 6" to its chronological position of "chapter 3". Does that make sense?)
> 
> Feel free to come and yell at me on twitter at [Dracoduceus](https://twitter.com/dracoduceus). 
> 
> I love hearing from you!
> 
> ~DC


End file.
